More than a Game
by Utsukushii Kohana
Summary: Will, Irma, Taranee, Cornelia and Hay Lin, still living in Heatherfield, must struggle with their own personal, grown-up problems now. They discover all too well that life is more than a little game you play.
1. Chapter 1: Will

**More than a Game**

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**Life is more than a game you play. Because, after all, how can you win a game that has no rules? Drama/Romance

**A/N: **My first real WITCH story. To explain this a bit: In this story our WITCH girls aren't Guardians anymore, they have been relinquished from their duties and they're all grown-up now, to match with the realistic tone of the plot. It's a story in its entireness and every chapter is told in a different point of view, forming the cycle of WITCH (Will, Irma, Taranee, Cornelia and Hay Lin) since this story involves all the five girls, so you have to read every chapter in order to understand the story—it's possible that important stuff for (just an example) Will's storyline can occur in Hay Lin's chapter.

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Chapter 1: Will

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The scratching noise of the chalk as I begin to write, screeches into my ears. And apparently, into all the ears of my students as well, especially the ones sitting on the front rows. I have to giggle at the hilarious sight, forgive me, when I glance behind me. One of the girl students presses her hands against her ears to prevent the reaching of the waves of the squeaking sound. Nonetheless, I continue scribbling the notes on the black board, much to the displeasure of my students.

After I am done with the writing the notes, I turn around to face my students and ask them. "Did everyone understand everything?"

Some of them give me a nod or roll their eyes in a way of 'duh, I'm not an idiot', others don't respond at all. But a teacher like me, always have a few tricks up her sleeve to find out. First of all, I can see by their facial expressions and my second is to give a _tiny_, unannounced pop-quiz about the past few lessons. I rather not give them the surprise test, but sometimes a teacher has to stand her ground and show their students which one is the boss. Then again, they aren't difficult with me, so I don't feel the need to be a strict teacher.

Now, unfortunately, I decide to give them a test. To defend my case, I need to have more marks by the end of the semester or otherwise I won't have enough marks to fill in for their daily work.

As I sit down behind my desk, I scrape my throat quietly. "Everyone, take a sheet of paper and a pen. It's time to make a test about the enzymes," I demand, well not really _demand_, but that's the mere point.

Everyone groans, but obey anyway. "This is a small quiz, so there's only going to be three questions," I say to set their minds at rest. When I see that everyone's prepared to start the test, I begin to dictate the questions. "First question: what is the function of an enzyme?"

Abruptly, I stand up from my chair and begin to walk around the students. I wait a couple of seconds, so everyone can easily write down the question. I think about the first time as a teacher that I dictated the questions to my disciples. It was a complete disaster, I tell you. I was talking to fast and I had waited to long near the end of the lesson, that as result they didn't had enough time to even finish the test. Therefore, I had to postpone the thing. But from your faults you can only learn.

"Second question: where does the digestion of protein initiate and by which enzyme?"

A pause of another couple of seconds. "Last question: on which two concepts does an enzyme depend? I'll give you ten minutes, then you'll hand the sheets in," I remark, while I stroll back to the front of the classroom and sit down on my chair again.

Out of blue, I feel my cell phone vibrate in the right pocket of my trousers. While the students are busy answering the questions of the pop-quiz, I can easily take a glance at my cell phone to see who, in God's name, would have dispatched me a message. Everyone of my friends and Matt should know I'm busy instructing a class full of pupils! Sneaky as I am, I slip my cell out of my pocket and check the name of the sender: '_Irma Lair_'. I clap my hand in front of my eyes, which arouses curiosity of the pupils who witnessed my sudden action. I blush crimson (I'll never get over my shyness), when I observe all those arched eyebrows. With a pointed finger at the clock hanging above the class door, I indicate them to proceed on with their test. I smile as I scan all their heads bow down again, meaning not gaping at me anymore. Sometimes I do abuse my authority as a teacher. But a girl can have a little fun once in while! No harm there.

My smile fades, when I remember Irma's message. Reluctantly, I return my attention back to my cell phone. I press the button to open the message:

_Hey redhead,_

come to the Silver Dragon immediately after school! Taranee is going to be here too, we can hang out together!

PS: so hilarious, it's like the good old days when we were WITCH! hihi.

Because I have to fight back the urge to clap a hand in front of my eyes again, I simply roll my eyes. This is so typical Irma Lair. She's always the adventurous one of the group. Back in our _good old days _(as she calls it), she was always the most eager one to head for another mission. I guess it has to something to do with her father, Tom Lair, being a retired police man. The thirst for danger may be flowing in her blood because of that. Actually, it's weird why she didn't become a police officer herself or even a stand-up comedian, the reason is beyond me. She preferred becoming a secretary. Why? Nobody knows except Irma herself.

Anyway, I type rapidly 'ok' and send it back to Irma, before any of the students can detect what my hands are doing underneath my desk.

Riiiing.

The school bell's clinging sound rings through the entire building, even in my classroom. That's everybody's cue to stop scribbling down answers for their test. But to be sure I exclaim. "Pencils or pens down, everyone. Time's up. Hand every sheet over to the front rows."

Immediately, all the students hesitantly and reluctantly put down writing material down and pass the sheets to the ones in front of them. After that, they quickly tuck their books and etuis in their bags. They all hurry to the door to head home, to watch their favourite program or to listen to music. _Some_ will actually do their homework due the next day. While they strode to the door, I hurtle out to my students. "Don't forget to read pages 15 to 25 in your biology books!"

But they don't listen anyway. I know perfectly well that in high school there's a huge lack of attention to school. Who likes school anyway?

I never did, so I understand them perfectly.

Reminiscing my own school days, I scramble every needed paper and equipment from my desk. Then I cram them in my bag to go head home myself. Or better, to head for the Silver Dragon.

On my way over, I accidentally bump into Orube, or a.k.a. the former Rebecca Rudolph. All of us call her by her real name, Orube, but in public places we're forced to call her Rebecca Rudolph to not arouse any suspicion from people. That's why we had given her the alias of Mrs Rudolph's cousin and had given her another forename.

Since we're almost alone on the streets and since the passer-by's barely acknowledge our presence because of their extreme haste, I can greet her by her actual name.

"Hey, Orube! What a pleasant surprise!"

Orube, who looks frankly a bit shocked to run into me, shrills. "Will! Nice to see you, but I got to go."

"Wait," I interject, as she strolls by me, to stop her. "What's with the haste?"

"N- nothing, really. I have to go to work, the pet shop, that's all."

Oh yes, the pet shop. I remembered I persuaded the grandfather of Matt, Mr Olsen, to give Orube a job when we were still WITCH. She still works there, but since Mr Olsen passed away three years ago, he handed the pet shop over to her in his will. Because he knew Matt wouldn't have any business in the shop, since he has other dreams: becoming a huge rock star. Which he still hasn't succeeded in unfortunately.

"Oh," I answer, quite disappointed.

Although I comprehend it completely, I'm still devastated by the fact that our little gang has drifted apart (only a smidge, but still too much for my comfort). Okay, I'm certain this is all the course of life, you know, for everyone to go their separate ways: have a family, make a living, chasing one's dream. Still, it pains me to realize we all have apart lives.

"Can't it wait for a while? I'm heading towards the Silver Dragon. Taranee, Irma and Hay Lin are going to be there too. We can all catch up a bit. Please?" I beg while making big puppy dog eyes to convince her.

She smiles weakly, it looks more like a failed attempt to smile. Then she shakes her head. "I want to, but I _really_ can't. Perhaps some other time?"

"Fine," I heave a sigh. "Some other time then."

Now, her smile widens, but it still doesn't reach her eyes (meaning it's fake). She hugs me briefly, before she scampers away out of my sight.

_That_ was an awkward and weird position for me. Her entire expression and body language radiated 'I need to go away from you desperately. I did something that made me guilty to be near you.' Maybe it's only my imagination. I do tend to exaggerate in those things. I remember when Orube just started to work in the pet shop and that I was extremely jealous of the fact that she was spending an awful lot of time with Matt. I was starting to see signs that they were falling in love with each other. Which was absolutely ridiculous, because Orube would never do such a thing to me. Neither of my friends, actually.

I decide to shrug the previous scene away and begin to continue my walk to the Silver Dragon.

Finally, I arrive at my destination. Not much has changed since Hay Lin took over the restaurant in honour to her parents and grand-mother. You see, the situation is that the Silver Dragon is a family business. Her great-great-grand-father established the restaurant when he arrived in the United States of America and when he deceased one of his children decided to keep the restaurant in the family, so he/she (I don't know if it was a boy or girl) carried on the restaurant. Since then, always one of the children continued with the restaurant. After Hay Lin's mother got paralysed from a car accident and can't walk ever since (she has to use a wheelchair and needs her husband's care), Hay Lin thought it was for the best that she took over the business.

Although Hay Lin has a steady job now, she still has some regrets of her decision. She always wanted or better said, has always wanted to be a fashion designer. That has been her dream since she was a little child. But now she can't pursue her dream anymore just for the sake of the Lin's family honour. She, as everyone else of the family, know how hard it must have been for her great-great-grand-father to move out from China in order to get a better life in the US.

I push open the doors to get inside. There, I see Irma sitting at one of the tables having three glasses of long island ice tea (one of them empty, the other still full and the last three quarter left). I amble over to her and seat myself down on one of the other chairs of her table.

"Drinking already?" I retort, arching an eyebrow jokingly.

A grumble is all I receive for an answer.

"Sorry, didn't mean to offend you," I snap back, then I cool down knowing that something must be troubling our brunette. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Irma, don't try to fool me. I think you know I know you better than that."

In my head I giggle at my reply 'you know I know'. Which person says _that_? I think it's rather funny.

"There's nothing to tell, _Wilma_!"

Okay, now it's _personal_. Nobody calls me 'Wilma'. I hate that name more than I hate any of our old enemies. I know it's Irma's speciality to give nicknames, especially for Cornelia. She always reserves the name 'Corny' for her, which the blonde absolutely despises. Of course, Irma knows this and that makes the pleasure only bigger for her. But she shouldn't push the matter too much sometimes. For example, right now, I try to be nice for her and then she throws that awful name at me. Wilma reminds me too much of the Flintstones and I'm tired of being compared to that cartoon figure. You know, sharing the same name and hair colour makes the teasing all too easy.

"Don't you dare to call me Wilma, ever again," I sound really threatening, I just discover a new side of me. A side I don't want to bring to the surface anymore (tough, only when it's absolutely necessary).

Irma buries her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, Will," she apologizes and I can't really stay mad at her. "It's just-... I'm sick and tired of everything."

"Of _what_, precisely?"

The younger girl takes a deep breath. "Of the whole dating process. I mean, all you guys got the perfect boyfriends. Hay is already married, you got Matt, Taranee got Nigel and for goodness sake, Cornelia has _three_ boyfriends. Me, I don't have zip, nada, nul, zero, nothing, null, nolla ... I can go on with the languages, but it all comes to _none_."

"Oh, Irma," I smile genuinely at her. "The right person for you will show up. You just have to give it some time. Don't worry."

"Well, I'm tired of waiting. I guess I'll just turn out into a spinster, an old maid."

I roll my eyes at her comment. Even tough Irma is the sarcastic one of our group, she sure can overdo it sometimes. Like now, she is _overreacting_. Okay, I understand it's probably not easy if all your friends have good luck in the love area and you're the only one who gets left out of it. But I'm certain her prince charming will walk into her life. Mark my words!

"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady!" She points an accusatory finger at me. "It's not because your lover boy returned your affection, that means everybody has it that conveniently."

"Come on, don't-..."

"I want a boyfriend!" she wails in an overdramatic way, which catches the attention of everyone (which are a few by the way) in the restaurant.

I blush furiously at all the staring faces (see, I'm never going to get over my shyness) and scratch the back of my head timidly. "Nothing to see here, folks. Just continue your meals," I insist.

Lucky me, they avert their gazes and proceed on eating their suppers. As I noticed before, I wonder why there are so few customers. Normally, the Silver Dragon is crammed full with people, sometimes there's a huge waiting list. But now, there were, what? Like, five other people! What's going on? That certainly mustn't be good for business.

Suddenly, Irma's whining voice breaks my trail of thoughts.

"I _want_ a boyfriend! I _need_ a boyfriend!" She plops her head down on her arms, which are lying on the table.

I groan. "God, woman, pull yourself together! If you keep on complaining like that, no man will ever fall for you. I don't want to be rude, but that's just the truth."

"Whvr," she slurs and I can't understand one bit she's saying. I pinch the bridge of my nose annoyed. "Irma, articulate and enunciate!" I demand, which she obliges to as she raises her head slightly. "Whatever! I mumbled _whatever_!" Then she drinks another glass in one huge gulp.

"Irma, I think you ought to back down with the booze. It's clearly fogging your mind," I suggest wisely. I rather have a funny sarcastic Irma, then a pissed off sarcastic Irma. I can't really deal with the latter.

"You know, _Will_," she hisses as if my name is some kind of curse. "You can't always play the little leader you used to be. You can't always save everyone's lives. Maybe you should allow me to screw this up. Maybe I'm meant to be alone. The universe is against me, it's against the world, it's against us. The aliens are planning to invade-..."

Whoa, stop right there!_ Aliens_? I was right, the alcohol is rising in the back of her mind. And it's clearly taking over her. She's being delusional now and muttering God knows what. I wonder how many of these long island ice teas she has drunk by now (even before those three glasses).

Thank heavens that Taranee walks in and sits down next to me. I (finally) have a sane person to talk to now. "Hey Will, Irma," she greets silently.

"What's up with the huge, dark shades?" I inquire curiously, no more listening to Irma's rambling.

She pauses for a second, and because of the shades I can't read her facial expression. Then she shakes her head lightly and replies. "Nothing, I wanted to wear them for a change. I bought them last week and they were really over-expensive, so I have to wear them time from time."

I bob my head as she speak out her words. Although her explanation is very logical, it seems fiction to me. Her words sound so... _hollow_. Nonetheless, I decide it's probably for the best if I don't give her the third degree. Besides, Taranee is always been very honest. And if there are troubles in her head, she is always the first to not bottle it up, and speak about it. So if there's a complication now, she won't hide it, especially from me.

Irma, on the other hand, doesn't feel the same way. "I think -hiccup- you're hiding _something_, Cook," she accuses, while she squints her left eye and waving a threatening finger in front of the Afro-American girl.

After Taranee pushes her shades further up her nose, she scrunches up her nose in disgust from the reek of Irma's breath. I too can't avoid the awful stench and I hold my hand underneath my nose to at least try to deflect the smell.

Abruptly, Irma stand up (with a little staggering-… okay a lot) and retches. Taranee and I stand up as well and lay a hand on each of Irma's shoulders, while Taranee asks. "Are you going to be alright?" Irma nods, but then the retching increases and she runs as fast as her legs can bear towards the toilets.

Again, that action awakes the attention of the other folks in the restaurant. Which, of course, makes me flush crimson once more. Taranee, observing my pink cheeks, whispers in my ear. "Don't mind them, just ignore the stares. It's how I got over my shyness."

"Easier said than done."

"Or change your focus."

I raise an eyebrow inquisitively.

Taranee smiles at my ignorance. "Just focus your attention on me, not them."

"That can be arranged."

"Good." She sits down again and I follow her lead. "What's wrong with Irma? Who drinks that amount of alcohol at this hour?"

"She's having major _love_ problems."

"What?" The younger girl furrows her brow, even tough I can't see it, I merely guess so. "She doesn't even have a boyfriend."

I snap my fingers. "_That_ is the exact problem, the not-having-a-boyfriend-part."

"Don't we all have love issues, boyfriend or no boyfriend?"

I simply giggle at the rhetorical question. Of course, everyone has love problems. I sure had, or more _have_ my share of complications with Matt. Well, not really love problems, more problems around the… _sexual area_. It's no biggie, it's just… we haven't had sex in a very long time (okay, that is a biggie!). But it's probably because Matt has to concentrate on his developing career lately.

I actually think that Hay Lin and Taranee have the least love problems of us five. Because Irma is having trouble finding a boyfriend and Cornelia, our America's most wanted top model has difficulties with choosing one between three guys. I guess Irma envies the blonde because of the aforementioned.

Taranee's boyfriend, Nigel, has recently moved in with her (they're still moving some furniture and all that) and they have been happy together ever since they first laid eyes on each other. Too bad that Nigel's brother, Danny (amazing that they worked things out years ago), is staying there for a couple of weeks, because there was a fire accident in his apartment building. Our dear Hay Lin is married to Eric almost three years, she even changed her last name to Lyndon. So if she doesn't have luck, then I don't know it anymore.

"Sorry, I'm late with the orders, but there was something I needed to attend something in the kitchen," a newly voice intervenes.

"Don't worry, Hay Lin," Taranee reassures our Asian girl.

A huge, toothy smile creeps over our energetic girl. "Thanks, so what do you want for drinks?"

"I'll have a latté."

"And for me, a-…," I bite my lower lip as my eyes move over the menu. "a rose bottle tea."

Hay Lin scribbles our orders down, then glances at the empty chair where Irma sat a few minutes ago. "Where's Irma?"

"She's in the bathroom, probably puking all the alcohol out," I pinpoint, as if nothing's wrong with the whole picture.

While our former Air Guardian runs a hand through her long hair, she snarls. "I knew she was having too much to drink, I guess she sneaked into the kitchen while Eric and I weren't watching her. I know it must be awful to not having a boyfriend, but she doesn't need to overreact. Eric and I already set her up for a date tomorrow."

"Really, who?"

"Some friend of Eric's. They shared a dorm in college, and they reacquainted last week at the post office. Then Eric invited him over for dinner to catch up and his friend revealed his single. So… we thought it might be a good idea to pair him up with Irma."

"What's he like?"

"Well, he's really funny. I swear when he had dinner with us, he was telling all of these hilarious jokes, that a little pee came out. He's tall and handsome, not my type tough, but I think he's Irma's type."

"Let's wait and see how it went," I conclude.

"Good idea." Hay Lin winks at me. "I'll go fetch your drinks," she says, while retrieving back to the kitchen.

"So how is Matt doing?" Taranee asks, the moment Hay Lin is out of sight.

Nervously, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Fine, fine. He's sending out demo tapes of his band Cobalt Blue to label records."

"And?"

"No respond yet, but he- I mean, _we_ still got our hopes up," I smirk. "I know he's going to get famous one day, he's meant to be." Then I remember something that happened earlier today, that I need to talk about. "Taranee, I got a question to ask."

"Shoot."

"Have you noticed Orube's _weird_ behaviour lately?" I see her shaking her head, which means she doesn't really get it, so I explain further. "It's just-… I bumped into her today and it felt like-… like she desperately _wanted_ to get away from me. I don't know. Maybe I'm seeing stuff."

Taranee chuckles. "Maybe. I don't think Orube is trying to avoid you. She's not that kind of girl. Trust me, it will turn out to be a misunderstanding."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

Then Hay Lin comes back with our drinks. She softly places them on the table and gives us the bill (okay, we may be her best friends, it's still her living). She sits down on Irma's formerly chair.

We both quirk an eyebrow at her (you can see a raised eyebrow above Taranee's shades).

Her eyes widen at our facial expression. "What? Eric gave me permission to sit a few seconds with you. Besides, the place is almost empty today," she reasons herself.

Taranee glances at her red-leathered watch, and exhales loudly. "Irma is been gone for long, that it's starting to worry me. I'm going to look for her."

I nod and wait for her (with Irma tagging along) together with Hay Lin.

But the waiting doesn't last long, when I hear Taranee shouting after me.

"Will, come quick!"

Immediately, as if my natural instincts work faster than my brain, I sprint towards the bathroom. There, I find Taranee bending over Irma, who is lying unconscious on the floor. Taranee whips her head around to gaze at me, and I can read all the worry in her big, chocolate eyes.

"I can feel a pulse, but she's not breathing! What are we going to do, Will?" she begins to panic, when she steps up to me and grabs my shoulders roughly.

I pant as panic starts taking over me too, but I close my eyes to regain a hold of myself. When I open my eyes again, I gently push Taranee aside and walk over to Irma. Then I crouch over her to give her CPR. Before I start tough, I demand Taranee to call an ambulance.

After three minutes or so, Irma has started breathing again and the ambulance arrives (that's really _fast_, they may have been around the block). It's horrifying to see one of your best friends being placed on a carrier and pushed inside the ambulance. Since, none of us are actual related to her, we're not allowed to ride along. Which even scares me more. What if something terrible happens to her along the drive to the hospital?

Hay Lin, Taranee and I decide to drive together to the hospital in Hay Lin's car. Along the way, Taranee calls up first Irma's family, then she calls Cornelia on her cell phone to inform her as well.

All I can think about, is the sight of Irma lying unconscious. I never would have thought, she has it _that_ bad. I believe Hay Lin is feeling the most guilt in the pit of her stomach, since it was _her_ who served Irma the first glass of alcohol. However, it wasn't her fault that Irma sneaked (without Hay Lin and Eric knowing, of course) into the kitchen to pour herself some more drinks, whilst Hay Lin had told her before she had had enough for the day. Irma knows where everything is, we all do. God knows how many times we have been standing in that kitchen.

When we arrive at the hospital, Hay Lin sprints to the receptionist and yells with all her might. "In which room is Irma Lair located? Is she going to be alright? Tell me, woman!"

The receptionist, with the forename Nancy (I can tell by the name tag), is first taken aback by Hay Lin's wild behaviour, but she calms herself quickly. I suppose she is used to such actions, I believe there were a lot of people who behaved even worse than our Chinese girl.

She types something on her computer and afterwards focuses her attention back to our untamed artist. "Ms Lair is being operated now. You can sit in the waiting room."

We do as told, although Hay Lin is protesting a bit. Luckily, Taranee calms her down and walks her to the waiting room.

"It's going to be alright, Hay Lin. I promise," she sooths.

The youngest of the gang clenches her hands into fists and shrills furiously. "You don't know that! How can you be so sure? It's all _my_ fault she's in here in the first place!"

"This is not your fault, you shouldn't blame yourself. Besides, Irma is a fighter, one way or another she will struggle through this."

Hay Lin only nods at Taranee's comforting words. She closes her watery eyes and lays her head on Taranee's shoulder, while I'm sitting on the opposite side of the waiting room. I dearly hope Taranee is right, I know that Irma is a true warrior by spirit, but _this_ is really terrifying.

"When are her parents and brother coming?" I ask, but it's barely above a whisper. I think I'm too frightened to attempt to find my voice.

Taranee averts her eyes away from the magazine she's looking at and gazes directly into my light brown orbs with her shades. "Don't know, her parents are on their way, but they said it could take a while since there's a lot of traffic. As for Christopher, I couldn't reach him. But, I'll try again later."

"Okay."

Out of nowhere, a doctor appears at the entrance of the waiting room. He surveys the room and then calls out. "Are Ms Vandom, Ms Cook, and Mrs Lyndon present in this room?"

"Yes," I reply timidly.

"Good, can you come with me into the hall-way?" He indicates with his hand to follow him outside the waiting room, which we do.

Taranee blurts. "Is she fine?" As we wait for the doctor to answer, I bite my lower lip from anxiety and Hay Lin doesn't even dare to look the doctor in his eyes.

He scrapes his throat first, before he answers. "Yes, you don't have to worry." He waits a bit while we cheer silently, then he continues. "You came right in time. If Ms Lair had drunk more amount of alcohol it could have been fatal. But fortunately, that's not the case."

"Can we see her?" Hay Lin asks with fresh tears in her eyes, this time more out of happiness than sorrow.

"Perhaps later, Ms Lair needs to rest now."

"We understand."

The doctor give us a nod and then staggers of to do more healing work. After he's gone, I turn to my friends and give the two a tight hug. Taranee and Hay Lin head back inside of the waiting room, while I press my back into the wall in the hall-way and sigh loudly from relief.

I burry my face into my hands to prevent myself from crying. However, it doesn't work. I suppose I was in too much shock before, and tried to contain myself in front of Hay Lin. But now, I can let it all out and it feels so _good_. Thank heavens that Taranee was right, even tough I know it myself that Irma is a fighter. Still, there's always that _opportunity_ that something horrible can happen.

After I regain my composure, I still ponder over Orube's behaviour earlier today. Why was she trying to avoid me? Does she feel bad about something? Does she resent me for some reason? Or is she feeling guilty about something?

For now, I decide to not dwell on the matter and go back inside to Taranee and Hay Lin. If something's up, I'm sure Orube will tell me when she thinks the time is right.

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A/N:** I dearly hope this story will have lots of success, because I think I'm going to enjoy writing this. Well, folks, reviews make me happy, they're my babies!

_7/16/2006_

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	2. Chapter 2: Irma

**More than a Game**

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**Life is more than a game you play. Because, after all, how can you win a game that has no rules? Drama/Romance

**A/N: **I hope you all know this story is situated in the comics (when they're retired from their WITCH duties). And I dearly hope that I write every character not too OOC, since I have only read a comics. I do the best I can, I swear. Anyway, I know the story is still developing, but I have it all figured out what I'm doing with this (well, for the most part) and the drama will come, but for now you have to bear with me. 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

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Chapter 2: Irma

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Slowly, I open my eyes. 

But I have to flutter them open, because of the light that illuminates the entire room. When I get used to the brightness, I widen my eyes more, even tough it's very difficult to do so.

What is it with this major head ache? It feels as if thousands of drills are punching in my head. And it feels like every thrust of the drills break open my skull more and more. What the heck could have caused this much chaos in my head?

I scan the room I'm in with a couple of blinks.

Where the hell am I?

I don't think I'm in my own bedroom. My room doesn't have cream white paint on the walls and there's absolutely more furniture; more than only a table, a closet and a bed.

Wait a minute!

There's definitely not flowers and cards, standing on table and windowsill in my bedroom!

This can only mean one thing: I'm lying in a hospital room!

But, _how_ did I end up in here?

Tough it's hard to move a muscle in my body, I try my best to swirl my legs out of the bed and stand up. The moment I'm standing on my feet, my knees collapse and I have to hold the railing of the bed to find some support. I suppose I have to walk while I hold on to something. So after I slide my hand further on the railing, I take a tiny step towards the exit. Finally, I'm at the end of the bed. Suddenly, I feel the need to throw up… urgently. At this rate, I can't _stagger_ to the bathroom in time. Before I can contemplate the issue further on, I'm not able to hold it in anymore and it all comes out.

One word: gross!

The little strength I could summon in my muscles earlier, begin to forsake me and I'm having even more difficulties with standing firmly on both of my feet. I know I have to lie down or at least sit down, I drop down to my knees and crawl my way back to bed. When I'm at the head of the bed, I climb my way back in. First my back is lying on the bed and with my hands I pull my legs onto the soft mattress as well. I groan out of pain, but through gritted teeth so that the entire hospital doesn't have to hear my cry.

Seriously, _what_ the hell did I do to end up here… with _this_ much pain?

Sleep wants to take over me again and I reluctantly close my eyes once more only to rest. My breathing becomes steady again with the rise and fall of my chest.

Then I hear the door creak open and footsteps are echoing into the room. I can hear there are two persons walking; one steps with ease and the other quickens her pace over to the bed I'm currently 'sleeping' in. Once the rapid one stands beside the bed, I can hear her/him whisper to the other one and I can make out to whom the voice belong to, namely Hay Lin.

"I'm glad she's okay," she chirps.

The other one stops walking, apparently waiting or noticing something. "I don't think she's still one hundred percent fine, Hay Lin," she remarks and I can decipher that that timid voice belongs to my dear friend, Will. "Where does all this puke come from otherwise?"

I squint my eyes to see their faces, but due to the fact that they are looking at each other, they don't notice that I'm awake. I watch Hay Lin amble towards where Will's standing and see her scrunch up her nose in disgust of _what _came out of me a bit earlier.

Will thinks aloud. "That puke must have been from her, which means she has-…"

"Woken up!" Hay Lin cheers a little louder than she anticipated, which causes herself to clap her hands in front of her mouth and Will to motion her to be silent.

"Ssh, Hay. You heard to the doctor, she needs her rest. So don't wake her up."

"Right," the hyper girl bobs her head in affirmation and decides. "I'm going to get someone to clean this _mess_ up. You stay with her in case she wakes up again and needs anything."

"Good idea," Will confirms.

Hay Lin frowns. "Make sure you fetch anything she wants, make sure she's okay and oh, maybe you ought to fluff up her pillow a bit and-,"

"I will, I will," the red-headed girl interrupts Hay Lin's rambling. "Don't worry, she's in good hands with me."

The Chinese girl sighs. "I know. But it's so uncomfortable to leave her by herself now. I was, no better yet, I _am_ worried sick about her. What if she pulls another stunt like that? I know I won't be able to survive it when she's in an even more terrible state than this. She's one of my best friends. I can't live without her or without any of you guys, I truly can't."

"I feel the same way, Hay."

"Well, anyway, with _that_ said." She averts her stare to me again, which makes me shut my eyes promptly. "I'll be going then."

I hear Will's footsteps clicking (due to the small high heels, which is actually not in her character to wear, she's more the sneakers-wearing type) towards the bed. When the clicking stops, I feel a weight on the left side of the bed, which means she's sitting beside me. She pulls the sheet, which was covering the lower half of me, up to my neck gently. Afterwards, she brushes the strands of hair away from my face. It's really by these small gestures that you can see that Will is a true mother by nature. She is in fact the oldest of us five and she always acts like it (of course being the leader of our past WITCH days gave it a few more notches).

She exhales deeply and I can feel her warm breath breezing against my face. Then she initiates an _one-sided_ conversation, with me nonetheless.

"Irma, don't you ever scare me like that again-…"

_Scare her_? What did I do? I didn't wait behind a door, and then jump out screaming 'I'm going to cook you alive and eat you skin and hair!', now did I?

"I realise our WITCH days are over, but I can't help to still position myself as the leader. I'm supposed to _protect_ you!" she yells, apparently letting all her frustration out. "And if Taranee checked up you a few seconds later, or if I didn't snap myself out of shock when I saw you lying unconscious, who knows _what_ would have happened?" her voice sounds too high-pitched, and I can hear her sobbing, probably trying to hold the tears back. "I _don't_ want to imagine what would have happened. I love you too much to let you hurt yourself."

"Oh, I love you too, Will," I reply smirking wryly, before I realise what I'm doing. Once again, I open my eyes to _not_ miss her facial expression (I know, sometimes I'm so evil in my ways!).

Will's eyes grow twice their normal size and she hugs me tightly, while exclaiming. "You're awake! You're finally awake!"

I raise an eyebrow sceptically. "I thought you had _that_ figured out a few seconds ago." She glances at me all funny, which makes me roll my sea-blue orbs and point a finger towards the floor at the end of the bed. "I believe you had noticed my puke before, the reason why Hay Lin left the room."

"What! You weren't sleeping since we have come into the room?"

"Nope," I answer.

She purses her lips in a thin, angry line and smacks my arm heatedly. "Aw, that hurts." I flinch at her reaction and rub my arm half-heartedly to ease the sore. "Didn't you learn to _not _strike people down when they're sick and weak? That's just low, Vandom."

"Haven't you learned that you shouldn't play games with people that care and worry about you? Now, that's _so_ low, you're sinking through the bottom of the Earth, _Lair_," she hisses, while folding her arms in front of her chest.

"Sorry," I apologize sincerely. Sometimes my weird and sarcastic sense of humour tends to get out of control.

She loosens up, she truly can't stay mad at someone long. "It's okay, I guess we're all a little jumpy lately." She stretches out her arms, expecting a hug, to which I obey to and sit up to hug her as tightly as possible. "I'm glad you're okay, we were all scared you wouldn't make it," Will declares, whispering it in my light brown hair.

Reluctantly, I break the comforting hug and cast my gaze downwards.

"What's the matter, Irma?"

I have the need to play with the hem of the sheet, while I stammer out. "This may sound a smidge-… peculiar, but euh-… _what_ exactly happened?"

Will furrows her brow confusingly. "Wait- you mean you don't remember?" she questions.

"I really can't," I begin to wail. "Everything's a blur right now." I place my right hand against my temple and shake my head softly. "I don't know how long I've been here. I don't know what time it is right now. I don't even know how I've triggered this much head ache!"

After my confession, Will slides closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. With her thumb, she soothingly strokes my shoulder.

She tells. "You've been here since the day before yesterday in the afternoon and you've been sleeping till the moment you vomited. Right now, it's ten o'clock in the morning."

"Don't you have a class to teach today then?"

"Yes, I do. But I only have two classes to attend to; the first was at eight o'clock and the second is at two o'clock, so I thought why don't I drop by for a few hours?"

"Thanks," I smile meekly.

She returns the smile. "You're welcome."

"Okay, but _what_ did I do that day?" I ask bluntly, there's no point in beating around the bush.

"Well, you were depressed from the fact called your love life. You compared it too much with the rest of us, which isn't all sunshine, lollipops and rainbows by the way. And the little matter caused you to drinking… a lot, apparently, which made you lose your consciousness. Taranee found you lying not breathing in the bathrooms and we called an ambulance. That way you ended up here."

"Oh dear God," I gasp.

"You were lucky you weren't drinking above the limit, or else it could have been fatal according to the doctor."

"Wow, that must have been scary for you guys," I conclude from the story.

Will nods, while closing her eyes, like somehow she is reliving that horrible event.

"For what it's worth… I'm so sorry."

"Just don't do it again," she insists and I'm more than willing to take upon that offer.

Silence descends upon us two and there's this eerie tension in the air. It doesn't suit by me one bit. I have always been the comical one (beside Hay Lin with her weird comments) of the gang on purpose that is. But I was always serious when it was necessary (that was rare, but I did it anyway), even tough Cornelia disagrees with the latter. She always argued with me because according to her books, I was _never_ serious enough. Well, we still have our disputes, but let's put that aside. The only reason why I made sarcastic jokes when it was time to be serious, was only to relieve us from the angst. However, Cornelia never thought of it that way. Thus, she always assumed I was having _fun_ with our super-serious missions.

I want to get rid of this tension, therefore I inquire. "Did the doctor mention when I can be released from the hospital?"

"Euhm," Will hums coming out of a deep daze. "No, he didn't. He did mention that he's checking up on you later."

"Fine, then I keep waiting in this dreadful boring room for Mr White Coat with Fancy Name Tag to show up."

Will removes her arm from my shoulders and gets up from the bed as well. "Maybe you should continue your rest until White Coat drops by," she suggests, while giving me a weak push against the shoulder to indicate me to lie down. I obey with hesitation and press my back against the soft mattress once more. Seeing that I do as told, she walks away to sit on one of the chairs against the opposing wall.

I try my best to snooze away, but for some reason it's impossible.

"Will," I address her with a sugary voice.

The red-head looks up from the magazine she's reading, while sitting on the chair. "Yes."

"Don't mean to be rude, but-… how long are you going to stay here?" I fumble with my thumbs.

She looks offended and I ramble to justify my question. "No, no. Don't look at me like that, it's not because I don't want you here, it's only because I can't sleep with another person in the room, watching me nonetheless."

"Ah, I'm sticking with you until Hay Lin arrives. I have to head back to school anyway."

"With Hay's energy level her arrival wouldn't take long," I quip.

Speaking of the devil, our hyper friend bounces through the door with a doctor and a cleaning lady following behind her. Hay Lin skipped towards Will, while the doctor walks to me and the cleaning lady grumbles at the mess I made on the floor. She takes her mob, dipped it in water and detergent, and swirls it on the floor to scour the puke.

Hay Lin waves at me. "Hi, Irma. Happy to see you _alive_!" The last verb make her receive a nudge on her side by Will's elbow. Hay Lin just scowls at her.

Then they let me direct my attention towards the doctor, who informs. "How are you feeling, Miss Lair?" He takes a little flashlight from his pocket and reflects the light directly in my eyes.

"A bit nauseas and woozy," I answer. "But other than that, I'm doing a-okay, mister."

"Open your mouth," he orders, so that he can look into my throat with his flashlight. As he's busy with other check-ups on me, the cleaning lady is done with her task and leaves the room.

Will glances at her watch. "I have to get going. Take care, Irma, I'll see you guys later. Bye."

"Bye, bye," Hay Lin smiles toothy (while seating herself on the chair where Will sat previously) and I raise my hand to show her that I say goodbye as well.

I breathe deep in and out, because the doctor's examining my respiration and heartbeat with his stethoscope.

He's finished with his check-up and announces. "Your health have improved really fast, Miss Lair. You may go home, on two conditions."

"Name them," I prod, keen to leave this place.

"They're very simple; you have to rest a lot."

I laugh a bit. "That can be arranged, doc. What's the second one?" I stand up from the bed (without difficulties this time) and when I'm about to amble to Hay Lin, the doctor holds up a hand to stop me.

"Something _you_ have to decide whether you do it or not. It's nothing necessary. However, I _suggest_ that you should go to these regularly," he says while handing me a pamphlet of AA meetings. "It can help you from your alcoholic complications."

My mouths parts slightly and my eyes widen as realization dawns my face.

"What! I'm not an alcoholic!" I bark furiously. How can he think that? How _dare_ he think that?

"I'm not assuming you are, but-…"

"Yes, you are! Why else would you give me this?" I retort, swishing the pamphlet in front of his face.

Hay Lin feels its her cue to step in and she intervenes. "Irma, calm down." She grabs my arm roughly and pulls me away from the doctor, probably out of fear I might attack him. I don't know how she does it, but it seems that girl can always reach out to me and make some kind of a click inside me whenever possible. Maybe it's because she has always been my best friend, even _more_ best friends than Will, Taranee and Cornelia.

I cool down from my exaggerated outburst and I let the doctor explain himself. "I don't believe you're an alcoholic, Miss Lair. But accidents like _that_ can occur even when you think you're in control. Thus, I suggest you visit one of those meetings to face your anxiety, which caused your one time drinking."

I heave a sigh, when I let his explanation soak in.

"It's all up to you, of course. The ball is on your side of the court." He moves a step forward to me and extends his arm in order to shake my hand. "I bid you good day, Miss Lair. Take care," he says, while I curl my hand around his and give him a firm handshake.

As he retrieves from the room, Hay Lin opens the closet and unfolds a few of my clothes.

I raise an eyebrow inquisitively.

She grins sheepishly and scratches the back of her head. "Your parents picked some clothes from your apartment and they dropped them by in case you woke up." She throws me a shirt and a pair of jeans. "After all, you can't go home in that hospital uniform, now can you?" she giggles.

I cast my gaze downwards and have to agree with the Asian girl. I can't walk on the streets with a complete bare back and behind. What a sight would that be! I'm not a prude, but I'm not eager to show it all to some strangers and non-strangers.

I'm blushing crimson, which makes Hay Lin giggle louder. She manages to mention between the giggling. "I'm going to get you some coffee and a sandwich to go while you change into normal clothing."

"Good idea."

When Hay Lin is out the door, I place the pamphlet on the bed. That way I can use both hands to pull out the two knobs of the hospital robe at my back. I slide of the piece of fabric and firstly clasp my bra on and put on some underwear. Then I'm able to pull my pants on and shove the t-shirt over my head.

I pack my other clothes that are hanging in the closet into a suitcase. Might as well do it, while Hay Lin is gone and I have nothing else on hands. Otherwise I have to sit on the bed waiting for Hay Lin to return and I always need _something_ to do.

Suddenly, I have something else to do than pack. I need to go to the bathroom urgently, I suppose that happens when you sleep for a day and two nights. When I'm done, I proceed the packing, or the little what's left of it.

To be honest, I suck in folding up clothes, no scratch that, actually packing in general. My clothes are now more crumbled than neatly folded and are more like crammed into my suitcase instead of neatly placed. Anyway, I don't really care, as long as it all fits into the suitcase and I can carry it all home. I may be overreacting that I want to go home _so_ eagerly, but I can't stand being in a hospital, even for a couple of hours. To think that I've been lying here two nights and a day, it gives me shivers. Besides, east or west, home's best, right?

As I wait for Hay Lin, I sit on the bed (once again) and I swing my legs back and forth out of boredom.

I scream. "Come on, what's taking you so goddamn long, Hay Lin! I want to go home!"

My cry has been answered, because I hear the door creak open (they should do something about that peeping) and someone walks in with hesitation tough. That's odd, why would Hay hesitate to walk inside?

"Who's there?" I question, a bit on my guard.

The incognito scrapes his throat. "I'm sorry to barge in, but I thought I heard you yell the name 'Hay Lin', I could be mistaking." He walks into the room further and reveals himself.

He's a pretty tall guy and by pretty tall I mean he's taller than girls, but not as tall as the average guy. He has fair blond hair, a little ruddy. Also, he's a bit thin for a guy and he seems my age.

"What's it to you?" I hiss, letting him feel he's treading on dangerous ground.

He smiles, apparently not afraid of my rising anger. "I know her," he replies simply. "I've been to high school with her. We were in the same class together."

"Really?"

He only nods.

I grin. "How are you? And if you were in the same class with her, then _why_ don't you remember me?"

He smacks his head lightly and holds out his hand in front of me (another one who wants a handshake today). "Sorry, I completely forgot my manners by not introducing myself. My name is Martin Tubbs and to respond your other question, I don't know why I should. Have we met in the past?"

I'm sure my face looks bewildered, but I can't believe what I am hearing. My eyes widen at the sound of his name.

"Martin Tubbs? You're- you're Ma- Martin Tubbs?" I stutter.

"Yes, I am."

I don't know why, but I begin to howl with laughter. "No way, you're kidding me right?" I have to wrap my arms around my stomach because of the laughing.

He looks a bit crushed at my reaction and he frowns. "No, I'm not joking around. Why are you laughing at me?"

Sensing his tone of voice, I stop laughing (more like an attempt, because there's still some _after_-laugh). "Sorry, but it's kind of hard to believe. Because Martin was madly in love with me in high school and he was like a total nerd. But I suppose you're not lying to me, Martin." I wipe the little tears from the laughing away with my index finger.

"Hold on a second! Is there any chance you're Irma Lair?"

I bob my head to confirm that in fact I am Irma Lair.

Now, he starts to laugh a bit (not as badly as me earlier). "Wow, I can't imagine how both we have changed. You didn't recognize me and I didn't recognize you. Although now that I know, I can see some similarities between the young you and the ag-, _new_ you," he corrected himself rapidly and just in time. "It's been so long!"

"It really is," I smile genuinely. "You certainly have changed much… for the better that is, I don't want to think I was insulting you or anything." I flush at my rambling.

"You have changed as well, Irma. Also positively, although you have always been perfect in my point of view," he flattered, which makes me blush scarlet.

"Thanks."

"Anyway," he spoke, shaking his head like he's coming out of a fantasy. "I have to go, my grandmother is sick and she's lying in a room on this floor. I was on my way to visit her, but I heard you yelling at Hay Lin's name and I got curious. Perhaps we should catch up some more during a cop of coffee?"

I tuck a chunk of hair behind my ear nervously. "Sure, great idea."

"Okay, how about tomorrow at four o'clock? I saw this cute coffee shop on the drive here. It's called 'Chez la maison grain de café'."

"I know where that is, I see you there tomorrow."

"Bye, Irma. It was a pleasure seeing you again. Say hey to Hay Lin for me."

"I will," I promise. "Bye."

That was… _weird_, to say the least.

Why was I so nervous? I've never been nervous around Martin before, why should I have _now_?

It's a pure enigma.

I'm only nervous around people who I have a crush on, or people who I feel uncomfortable with. Martin is not the type of guy who makes me uncomfortable… _anyone_, for that matter. And I certainly do not have a crush on Martin! Hell, he was always the one hitting on me (not that I was flirting with him a moment ago!), not the other way around. I guess it's only because it's been ages since I've last seen him, that's it, there's _no_ other explanation.

My thoughts are interrupted when Hay Lin walks back in with a sandwich and a coke.

I quirk an eyebrow. "I thought you were fetching me a cup of coffee?"

"Sorry, there was a tiny problem with the coffee machine. Thus, I had to go a floor lower to the vending machine to get you some coke." She delivers the sandwich and drink to me.

"Ah, it's alright," I assure her. Really, a coke or coffee? I enjoy drinking them both, so there's no harm if it's the one or the other.

"Before I forgot." Hay Lin holds her index finger underneath her chin, indicating she has remembered something. "I had to cancel your blind date, you know Eric's friend, but we moved it till next week or so."

As response, I give her a small nod.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, I am," I smile, keen to leave this place and head back outside.

My thoughts return to Martin and our coffee appointment tomorrow. Maybe I 'm still a little dizzy, but I actually look forward to my little _date_ with Martin. Which is an even bigger enigma!

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**A/N:** This story is going on a roll. Already begun with the next chapter!  
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7/23/2006_

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	3. Chapter 3: Taranee

**More than a Game**

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**Life is more than a game you play. Because, after all, how can you win a game that has no rules? Drama/Romance**

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A/N: **This chapter was rather difficult to write, because it's _nasty_ towards the end. You are warned! But it's _finally_ some real drama! So sit back and enjoy! 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

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Chapter 3: Taranee

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I still can't believe how fast it all happened. 

One minute Irma is sitting with us, rambling about God knows what and the next minute she's lying unconscious on the bathroom floor without breathing.

How terrifying it was to discover her there!

Thank heavens, she's back from the hospital safe and sound. I can't imagine my life without her there or without any of the others, for that matter. I should try and focus my attention elsewhere, but I can't isolate that picture from my mind. I know I shouldn't keep thinking about that horrible event, but I can't help myself, it's some sort of natural instinct.

Either way, it's not like my life is so carefree and non-horrible. But I really _don't_ want to set my thoughts onto my own life, not when that cruel prick isn't around, because I don't want to give _him_ the satisfaction!

Three days ago, when I accompanied Will, Irma and Hay Lin at the Silver Dragon, I had to use a concealer to cover up the nasty bruises on my face and had to wear dark, large shades to hide away my black eye (which I couldn't keep hidden with only a concealer). I recall that awful morning when it happened, I said the wrong thing to him and my words triggered his tempting anger, which made him explode and attack me furiously. I managed to avoid him the past three days, but I don't believe I can keep avoiding-…

"Hey, baby," Nigel greets me from behind, startling me at first and interrupting my thoughts. He gently nuzzles his lips on the back of my neck, which makes me forget my previous thoughts and makes me think _only_ about the soft, warm feeling shivering down my spine when he does his thing.

He stops kissing me and puts his lips near my earlobe to whisper. "Did you hear anything about Irma since yesterday?" he asks concerned. He's always concerned when it's about me, my friends or any of his friends. Such sensitivity he carries in his heart and to think that he used to hang out with Uriah Dunn and his gang of no mercy.

"Yes, she got some mysterious plans today, unlike yesterday when she rested the whole day the moment she returned home," I reply with a hint of disappointment in my voice.

Nigel quirks an eyebrow inquisitively. "Mysterious plans, huh? What's so _mysterious_ about her plans?"

I shrug lightly. "Well, she only said she would be busy today and when I asked why, she merely answered with 'none of your business'," I tell the short version of our telephone-conversation.

"Ah, the famous and most used snappy comeback," Nigel emphasizes while massaging my shoulders.

I giggle. "Sweetie, when you do that, I'm not able to slice up these tomatoes in order to make your lunch. I know how you like your sandwiches, with thin slices of tomatoes on top of your cheese and ham."

I can feel his lips turn into a smirk. "Well, then…" He twirls me around to face him and after he shoves the tomatoes and knife away, roughly tilts me onto the counter whereas my legs are on each of his side. "I have to eat cornflakes for a change, because I want you right here, right now," he speaks seductively, leaving all these feather light kisses on the crook of my neck.

"Fine by me," I consent, enjoying his smooth hands underneath my shirt. "But, perhaps we should continue this on the couch or bed."

He stops caressing me (much to my displeasure actually) and nods. "Whatever my baby wants, my baby gets." He grabs me to lift me off the counter and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. That way, he carries me of to the living room. There, he softly places me on the couch with him on top of me and proceeds his former actions by firstly taking off my shirt and kissing my breasts. My hands move downwards and I tuck his belt lose to take those trousers down.

Just when the _good_ stuff is about to begin, his cell phone starts vibrating on the coffee-table. I groan inwardly, eyeing him as he picks up the bloody call and readjusts his belt. We _rarely_ have these kind of moments anymore, because his stupid job is taking over his personal life too. I realise that being a businessman demands a lot of your attention and time, and that he needs to do it because of the money, it still sucks for me. I love Nigel very much and I love spending time with him, but lately I don't get to see him anymore.

He rolls away from me and scampers around the room, clutching his cell against his ear. I swear that all these phone calls are doing major damage to his ear. One day, he's going to waltz inside and having blood flowing out of that same ear.

It's really an _one-sided_ conversation on his cell, because I hear him mutter some 'yes' and 'hmm', nothing more comes out of his mouth.

As he's busy nodding to no-one in particular, I pull my shirt back on and head towards the kitchen again. Better to finish of our breakfast than sitting there, biting my nails out of boredom. A little outraged (okay, I admit _not_ a little), I chop the lettuce as if I'm shredding Nigel's boss. I take some French bread, cut it in half and lay a slice of cheese and bacon one half of the bread. Then, I spread some mayo over it and after that, I place the lettuce and tomato on top of it all. And now, we have lunch!

Nigel slouches into the room with a depressed face and plops down on one of the chairs. Then, he runs a hand over his face, which is a sign of frustration by him.

I neatly lay down the plates on the kitchen table and sit across of him. Then, I pour for him and myself some water, not saying any word or giving him any glance whatsoever.

"I can't stay long," he remarks, picking up his sandwich and biting a huge chunk out of it.

_What else is new_, I think bitterly to myself, but don't say the actual words. No, I simply remain quiet and peacefully eating my lunch. Like aforementioned, I'm sick and tired of this. The only time I do get to be in the same room as him, is when he comes home at like… twelve thirty in the morning. Always working overtime! That's all he can do, but spending a bit time with me, that's too hard.

"I'm really sorry," he apologizes to me, but I still don't reply.

_Yeah right. _

"They need me at work."

_I need you too._

"You're giving me the silent treatment," he points out.

_Wow, aren't you perceptive?_

He sighs. "Fine, I understand why you're mad at me." He gulps down his water quickly. "But I also want you to understand why I'm working so much exactly."

I fold my arms to indicate him that I'm listening intently and curiously about what he has to say next.

Firstly, he scrapes his throat and then he enthuses. "I can get a huge promotion!"

My eyes widen and I drop the silent act promptly. "What? Are you serious?" I jump up from the chair and run to his side of the table to embrace him tightly.

"Have I ever been the joking type?" he quips, as he pushes me onto his lap still with my arms around his neck.

"This is fantastic!" I exclaim cheerful, but my mood changes abruptly. "However I don't comprehend why you have to be so much at work. Care to explain?"

The tension in the kitchen between us two rises once again. I didn't do that on purpose, but I need and want to know why. Perhaps I may look an _obsessive_ girlfriend right now, but I love Nigel and when you're in love with someone you want to hang out together as much time as possible, that's a perfectly normal reaction.

"Well, it's actually very simple. If I show my boss how diligent and good I am, than I have a better shot at getting the position of general manager. That's all there is that you need to know." He strokes my cheek gently and raises one eyebrow. "You _do_ trust me, don't you?"

I roll my eyes playfully. "It's okay, I trust you." I kiss him on the top of head. "I'm not assuming you're having an affair or anything."

"Good, 'cause I'm not. I won't do anything to hurt you."

"Me neither," I smile genuinely.

Then, he kisses me so passionately that when he withdrew his lips, the feeling keeps lingering on mine. How on Earth can he mesmerize me the way he does? How on Earth is he able to make me forget all the anger I had built up inside? How on Earth is he always able to make me forgive him? He always had this power and impact on me, I sincerely hope he will _never_ abuse this power.

I purse my lips together in thought and trail my finger along his chest (well, more his shirt, but you get the picture).

"Do you have some spare time for a quickie?" I ask, a little randy.

Slowly and tiredly, he exhales and I can feel his hot breath against my face. "I wish I did, but I don't." My face turns gloom and I bet he can notice it, because he immediately insists. "I promise you that I'll arrange a romantic night just for the two of us. No interruptions, no work business, just you and me."

For the last time, he kisses me on the mouth and walks to the door. I follow him, while I'm holding his hand affectionately. His briefcase is standing next to the front door, ready and waiting to be picked up.

Unwilling to, he lets go of my hand and lifts up the briefcase. I open the door for him and before he steps outside, I remind him of his promise. "You know, I'm holding you on to your promise."

He furrows his brow out of ignorance. "_What_ promise?"

My mouth parts slightly and I'm about to throw him the scolding of his life, but he intervenes by laughing. I slap his arm playfully and point a threatening finger at him. "Don't you dare kid about that again, Nigel Ashcroft! I swear I was about to do you some serious damage."

"Relax, honey. A promise stays a promise and I will fulfil my promise. Bye now."

"Bye, see you tonight." I wave at his retrieving form. "Dinner is at eight, so be on time!"

I hope he heard the last part. Maybe I'm whining again, but I can't help it. I detest the fact that I'm always alone in this house, except for the times I'm at work too in the courthouse, but mostly I have to work on files at home on my computer. That way, I'm at home a lot.

We should at least be together on the few occasions, like for example having dinner together and going to bed together, but I don't even receive that. It used to be so easy when he wasn't as high ranked as he's now, however that wasn't as wonderful as I depict because of the money problems then. Yes, his pay check has grown much fatter since his several promotions and we are able to pay the bills properly (of course, my promotions at work have done one's bit as well).

In conclusion, there's always advantages and disadvantages in situations. Even tough, the disadvantages are bugging the life out of me now, I still contemplate at how difficult it could be otherwise. God, when did life become so complicated?

However, there's still a teeny tiny fact that I'm keeping to myself. My complaining of Nigel not being around enough has another reason as well than the ones I have summed up before. It's because I desperately need his protection from-… _him_. I simply cannot risk being alone (meaning without Nigel) when _he_ is here as well.

I shake my head to block the pictures of what happened last time. I'm too frightened of being alone here without Nigel. _What_ will occur next time when he gets out of control again?

I don't want to think about it.

I really don't.

Trying to focus my thoughts elsewhere, I amble to the kitchen to clean up. I put the dirty dishes and glasses into the sink, then all the filling back in the fridge. That was rapidly done, so I decide to do the washing-up.

I slide some plastic gloves over my hands, let the hot water run into the sink with some washing-up liquid

"Let's get cracking to this baby," I mumble to myself, as I begin to rub on the greasy spot on one of the plates used yesterday.

I rub and rub at the filthy stain, but it won't come off! Argh, stupid plate!

Just when I'm about to smash the plate into a million pieces on the floor, someone rings the doorbell.

That plate sure is a lucky plate. The ringing gives me my senses back and I realise I should let the plate soak in the warm water instead of rubbing the poor thing too hard. Also, I take of the gloves. There's no need wearing them while opening the door.

Hurriedly, I sprint to the door when the door rings a second time.

When I open the door wide, it's reveals a squirming Hay Lin. You can read the anguish all over her face.

"Hay Lin, what's the matter?" I query, because that look is so out of character for my usual cheery friend.

She grumbles. "I have a huge problem, Taranee." Without me ushering her or indicating to come in, she walks inside through the door.

"Ooookay, tell me," I order, not really in the mood to listen to other people's complications. I know, that may sound very selfish, but frankly, I don't care at the moment. I have enough on my mind as it is for the time being.

"Well, I got to-…, I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?" she trails of from the subject. However, I don't know whether she did it on purpose or not. "Because, otherwise I'll leave you to it and I-…"

I wave a hand to cut her shortly. "No, you weren't." Then, I gesture her to sit down on the couch instead of standing in the hall-way the entire conversation.

Like a five year old, she plops down on the two seat couch slouching. I, on the other hand, seat myself down elegantly with my legs crossed on the fauteuil. To be honest, Hay Lin and I are very different. She's more on the childish side (well, less than before) and I have a more mature nature. Thank God that we don't clash like Irma and Cornelia. Those two kibbling is already bad enough as it is for our team spirit.

"Well, I have to pick up Cornelia at the airport at five o'clock in the afternoon. That's in, like, three more hours," she ponders aloud, clearly _not_ having any clue about what time it is right now

"Uhu," I murmur, wondering where she's going with this. "So?"

Hay Lin's face turn in an offensive gaze. "God, Taranee. You don't need to sound so rude, I _will_ get to the point immediately, if that's what you want."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I heave a loud sigh. Okay, maybe I sounded rude, but that's because I'm a little jumpy today (not only today actually). Besides, Hay Lin is a touchy person, just like Cornelia in fact. Our Asian girl may be the most cheerful member of our gang, she sure can switch her mood very easily.

"It's alright, I suppose I'm in a terrible mood today. Please, continue," I say sincerely.

A wide smile appears on her features and I smile back.

I feel every muscle in my body relax, just because I feel safe when I'm with one of my friends (and Nigel too, for that matter). Friendship and love are truly the most powerful emotions. They will conquer everything on their path that even attempts to destroy them.

And I can't wish for better friends than Will, Irma, Cornelia and Hay Lin. Even tough, we don't get to see Cornelia as much as we used to, we still love her… even with her quirks. It's funny that we are all so different on many levels that we can all hang out so easily, for exception with Irma's and Cornelia's quarrels now and then. Still, I don't know where I would have ended up without any of them.

As for Nigel, he sure is the greatest boyfriend ever. We had met in high school and were pretty close there, but we _never_ actually got hooked up. Even tough, I was sure he had feelings for me as I had for him. Later, we reacquainted at college where we did got together.

I remember that night so vividly. Back then, I shared a dorm room with Will. One night, Will took me out after our last exam to celebrate that I survived my first year and she had survived her second year. When I wanted to go back to our room to sleep, she decided to go over to Cornelia's room, because she wanted to keep partying and we all know Cornelia is the master in parties. And apparently, the latter had been al a part of her and Nigel's scheme. When I walked into my dorm room, Nigel was already there. He had rose petals strewn over my bed and had champagne in an ice bucket. Then, he told me about what he felt about me and I returned his feelings. It was truly romantic.

"Do you want anything to drink?" I offer, you _always_ have to be polite to guests and visitors, friends or not.

"No, thanks."

"Something to eat?"

Hay Lin chuckles. "No, I'm fine."

"Okay, so what's the deal about picking up Cornelia?" I inquire, not having anything else on mind to say or ask.

"Well, I have to ride her back home from the airport, right?"

I nod.

"But the problem is that I have planned with Eric to visit his parents by train. And I totally forgot I planned it on the same day as picking up Cornelia."

I frown. "Why don't you call it off? You promised to Cornelia to pick her up and you shouldn't break a promise."

She buries her head in her hands. "I know, I know." Then, she looks up again with a frustrated face. "But I also know Eric's parents. They are _not_ very fond of me."

"Why not? It's not like you're the most notorious bandit in America?"

"It's because I '_stole_' their only son. His mother is very over-protective and she feels like I took her baby away intentionally," she retorts while she rolls her eyes. "That's the only reason why they dislike me."

"Are you serious?"

She bobs her head in affirmation.

And I laugh.

I think it's so idiotic when parents believe that some person who courts their child is pure evil. They have the feeling that their child is holy and sacred, and that they _own_ their child, even tough it's already a grown-up. Of course, I perfectly understand that parents have difficulties by seeing that their baby doesn't need their help anymore, they still have to accept that. But who am I to say all this, when I haven't been in those circumstances myself.

"Okay, so why don't you ask someone else to pick up Cornelia?"

Hay Lin bites her lower lip, casting her gaze away from me. "That's a brilliant idea, yeah."

Then, it hit me square in the face.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," Hay Lin replies.

I point to myself as I mutter. "You want _me_ to-…"

"Pick up our dear Cornelia, yes," she finishes my sentence.

"What about Will or Irma?"

"Well, Will has some classes today and Irma has these _unknown_ plans."

I grimace. "Was she being so undecipherable to you too, huh?"

"Yes, she was!" Hay Lin exclaims. "I don't mind that it's private and all, but she didn't need to bark at me like she did!"

"She snapped at _you_ too?" I ask bewildered, because Irma and Hay Lin are the best of friends and they tell each other everything. Just like me and Will, and Cornelia with Elyon. So why would Irma keep it hidden from Hay Lin?

Then again, I'm keeping _this_ major secret from Will and the others too. So I shouldn't question that about Irma if I don't do it myself, otherwise I would be very hypocritical. But I just can't reveal it to them. I just can't.

"Yes, she did. She's being so unfathomable lately, first the booze and now, mysterious plans."

An eerie silence descends upon us.

Hay Lin is the first to break it. "So are you able to pick up Cornelia?" She arches an eyebrow suspiciously. "Or don't you want to?"

My eyes widen in shock.

"What!" I squall. "What gave you the idea that I don't want to pick up Cornelia?"

"Just that you quickly asked about Irma and Will if they didn't have time to do the job."

"Well, it's only because I have to clean up in here and now, that Nigel is out - _again_ - I can do it with ease all by _myself_."

I blink at my own words. All by myself… _alone_. Perhaps it will be a much better idea if I have to pick up Cornelia, so that I won't have a chance by encountering _him_.

Njah, I will clean up later, even if Nigel is home.

"It's not that, the problem is that I don't have a car," I tell honestly. "Nigel needed it to drive to work. And with a cab, that's pretty expensive to the airport." I furrow my brow, then rapidly add. "Not that I'm stingy or anything!"

"Oh," Hay Lin mouthed.

Then, she snaps her fingers, what she always does whenever she has a _ingenious_ idea.

She shares her thinking with me. "I can loan you my car for today. Eric and I will take the bus or a cab to the train station. That's not merely as far as the airport, so we won't have to pay so much for a cab."

My eyes bright up. "Good thinking-... for once," I snicker.

"Uhu," she _surprisingly_ agrees.

Just wait, in five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Blast of…

"Hey! That's not funny, Taranee!" she yells angrily.

It's hilarious tough, how she can be so ignorant sometimes. I'm howling with laughter, as she snarls. "I'm _not_ as dumb as you guys think I am, I can have brilliant ideas too. Like my brilliant idea just now," she pouts puppy dog style.

I regain control of myself again and I supportively lay a hand on her shoulder as I decide to sit next to her. "You were due sometime."

She averts her stare away from me, even more upset with my teasing and I apologize genuinely from the bottom of my heart. "Sorry, I shouldn't have been acting like I was. You're not dumb, Hay, you're a really bright girl. And I truly mean that."

"It's okay," she reassures while I give her a tight bear hug.

She stands up and walks to the door, with me following her lead (wow, I suddenly have a déjà-vu!).

She jingles her car keys in front of me. "Here are the keys, be careful with my car."

"I will."

Pressing her lips together, she eyes me up and down. "Of course, _you_ will. You're the responsible one." She gives me a big toothy smile as she leaves. "Bye!"

I simply wave her a goodbye and close the door behind her.

A bit fatigued, I run my left hand through my short hair. I think I shall probably proceed on the dishes before I drive to the airport.

It's actually pretty exciting that Cornelia is coming back for a few months. That girl has been at Hawaii for a photo-shoot way too long. I have been missing her here in Heatherfield. But I mainly wonder if she's going to get together with my brother, Peter, again.

You see, Peter and Cornelia were a couple for a major long time. They were really an adorable sight, but there were some complications, of which I don't know anything about (as the others, they are as ignorant as me). So after quite an era, they broke up on good terms I have to say. Recently, Peter called me to mention that he's still in love with her and the moments she sets step in Heatherfield, he's going to try to win her back.

However, they're some rumours about Cornelia dating the famous actor Rick Fortworth. But the keyword being '_rumours_'. And then, there's still Caleb in her love life. Which was an epic in her love story actually!

Knowing Cornelia, she will follow her heart and make the right decision for her. Even tough I am rooting for my brother of course.

Anyway, my thoughts have drifted from doing the dishes to Cornelia's love life. Which they shouldn't have. I focus my attention towards the dirty plates again (much to my displeasure by the way). Listening to some music on the radio (and dancing, or more like shaking to it) will do me some good as I keep scrubbing at dirty stains on the plates.

Out of the blue, I hear someone whistle to the tune and beat of the song. It stops as soon as it was heard.

I know it's _him_.

My intuition tells me so.

But I _don't_ want to listen to it, I _don't _want it to be true.

He jokes. "Hey, Taranee. Didn't realise you were such a natural talent on shaking your groove _thang_."

I shudder at his voice. Physically as mentally, I can't be able in the same room as him. Especially, when we're _alone_ in a room.

"So got any plans for today?" he inquires.

Weakly, I bob my head signalling 'yes'. God, I can't even open my mouth properly. I'm _that_ afraid of him.

"Neat for you, I've got nothing to do. All my friends are at the bar and it's too early to be drinking like that," he remands so smoothly, like nothing happened the last time. Or has his brain been so damaged that he can't remember anything! Then, he continues talking to me. "Speaking of which, how's your friend, Irma?"

I don't answer. Because I'm attempting to hold back the tears that are springing in the corner of my eyes.

"Okay, you don't have to answer it. I know it's probably hard to talk about it. Why don't I grab something to eat and leave-…"

Now, I explode. "What's wrong with you!"

He blinks at my sudden reaction, dazed and confused.

"What are you talking about?" he asks, like _I_'m the nutcase.

I repeat even louder. "What's wrong with you! You come in here, acting all so _casual_, starting a _normal_ conversation with me! Why!"

"Why shouldn't I?" He begins to look doubtful, meaning he knows what I'm implying. "You're my kid bro's girlfriend. Why shouldn't I try to get along with you?" He steps closer to me and I back away from him. "Are you scared of me?"

I break down, I taste the salty droplets in my mouth as they stream down my face.

He observes me through half-lid eyes. "You are," he whispers in realization.

"Of course, I am. You've beaten me to crap the last time, Danny. Just leave me alone!" I scream, wanting to get out of here, wanting him to get away from me.

He doesn't try to deny what happened and avoid the topic anymore. "You didn't tell Nigel, did you?" He moves to me so fast, that I couldn't follow his traces. Roughly, he grabs my and pull me into him. "You didn't tell him, did you? Did you?" he questions through clenched teeth.

"No," I whisper, barely on an audible tone.

"Good," he nods. "Good girl." He embraces me and run his hands over my back. Then, I can hear him taking in the scent of my hair. "You're a good girl. No wonder Nigel loves you that much."

"Danny, let go of me," I demand, as I have this undeniable sense of dread that something that shouldn't happen is about to happen anyway. But I can try to fight it. "Let go!"

He holds me even tighter as if he realises that I am attempting to escape. Softly, he brushes his lips to my ear. "Why does Nigel always have the good stuff?" Then, he bites my earlobe seductively and I squirm even harder under his touch.

But my movements cause my hips to grind against his and cause him to misinterpret my actions.

"See, I knew you always had a thing for me. Stop resisting temptation, sweetheart, and give in."

"No! You're a sick bastard!" I yell, pushing my hands against his chest to move my body away from him. "I don't desire you. Never have and never will!" Finally, I can lift up my leg and I kick him as hard as I can in his groin.

Cupping his delicates, he falls down on his knees from the pain and this is my cue to sprint away. But the moment I run, he circles his hand around my ankle and yanks it real hard. Which makes me lose my balance and fall flat on my stomach onto the floor. He has recovers from his soreness and turns me around on my back, so that we're face to face.

Desperately wanting to wake up from this horrible nightmare, he crawls on top of me and hits me square in the face. That slap leaves a big, red mark on my cheek.

"You little bitch," he spits in my face. "I was willing to give you the time of your life and how exactly do you repay me? By kicking me and refusing me. That's your gratitude?" He punches me again, this time leaving a black eye.

I want to stop him. I want to get away from him. I want someone to rescue me.

But only _wanting_ it is futile.

I can't stop him. I can't get away from him. And _nobody_'s going to rescue me.

**

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A/N:** I'm sorry for that cruel scenery, but I needed to write this for Taranee's storyline. 

_7/29/2006_

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	4. Chapter 4: Cornelia

**More than a Game**

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Life is more than a game you play. Because, after all, how can you win a game that has no rules? Drama/Romance 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

**

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Chapter 4: Cornelia

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"Where the hell is she?" 

Impatiently, I scan the crowd for a familiar Chinese girl with mid-long ponytails. There are a lot of Asian folks, but none of them is the one I know and love.

Losing my temper, I glance at my silver watch.

"Oh my God, it's already _that_ late!" I grumble to myself.

I have been waiting here for an hour and forty-five minutes. What's keeping her so long? She's probably smooching with her beloved Eric than driving her ass up here. Okay, I admit that's _not _a nice thing of me to say. Hay Lin is not like that, she cares about her friends deeply and if she has made a promise, she will stick by it.

Thus, I better look for a place to sit somewhere and wait for her.

BRRRBRR.

And maybe look for a place to eat something.

Then, I accidentally drop my one suitcase and it springs open. Every item of clothing just falls out. Can this day even get any more worse?

Reluctantly, I fall on down on my knees and fold every item to tuck them in my suitcase once more. And do I get help from passer-by's? No way, nobody wants to offer some help.

After a couple of ten minutes I'm done and stand back up. This time I'll make sure I have a strong hold on that handle.

With my suitcases in each of my hands and my travelling bag over my shoulder, I go to the nearest place to grab a bite to eat. Of course, I stumble upon a McDonalds first. They do establish those fast-food restaurants everywhere, don't they?

Well, it's not really good for my figure, but I can't drag these bags much longer. Why do I always have to pack so heavy?

I go to stand in line to deliver my order. It will take awhile because some obese woman in front is complaining about not having enough sauce and too much lettuce on her McChicken. And the scrawny guy behind the counter is incredibly intimidated by her screaming and cursing.

Don't know why, but I feel the urgent need to intervene. Perhaps my stomach was competing over my brains over taking action and has apparently won the battle.

Therefore, I scamper (with all my bags) to the front of the line, while ignoring all those comments about 'hey, don't pin in front!' and 'get back in line, you bitch!'

I drop my bags with a loud thump and I ask bluntly to the two bickering. "Okay, what's the issue here?" I turn around to point at the people behind the fat lady. "There are human beings who want to eat too, you know?"

It's probably from the jet lag that I'm so bold or perhaps it's also because that's my nature. Even when we were still WITCH, it was always me who questioned Will as the leader. Every time she made a decision, I had doubts and even argued with her about the matter. Or when she was hesitant of speaking about her true emotions, I just said them myself honestly and kind of mean in front of her. And then, I had upset her. Which I don't blame her for, because I was the one who was the big bully. Either way, after my little blurting, I had regrets of what I did. Every single time!

The overly large woman stared hard at me, but I don't back down. My sky blue eyes are piercing through her grey ones, and likewise. Then, she averted her stare and observed me from bottom to top.

"I suppose you don't _want_ to eat, but you _need_ to eat!" she barked at me. "You could use a little fattening, _sweetie_."

I squint my eyes threatening. "You could use _much non_-fattening, _biggie_," I remanded, lowering myself to her level.

_I can't believe I just said that! _

That's _not_ me!

Okay, I do sometimes speak faster than I think things through. But I'm _not_ that rude, impolite and mean to people.

Everyone around us gasp loudly at our interaction. I say let them think what they want. I'm hungry, I'm tired and I have a lack of interest of what other people may feel about me. I just don't care.

But I do care about the fact that I don't want to be the cause of hurting anyone.

I heave an exhausted sigh. "Look, I'm sorry," I apologize to the woman. "I shouldn't got carried away like that with my words. But it's just that I'm extremely hungry and I want to help to solve your problem here."

Abruptly, she huffs. "Yeah right. _You_ _want to help me_," she vents, while pointing firstly at me and then herself.

"Yes, frankly I do. So what seems to be the issue?"

She scoffs. "Hold on a sec, _missy_. I don't need _anyone's_ help! Especially from _you_!"

Now, I feel offended. And the temper from before had died, but is currently tempted to reappear on the surface. But I try to maintain my cool.

Harshly, I swallow my rising anger away. "Why?" I ask frowning. "What do you imply by 'especially me'?"

The woman puts on an obvious face. "Look at yourself in the mirror, sweetie. I know what people like _you_ think about people like _me_."

"I-… I still don't get it," I sputter out, pretty confused by her remark.

"Skinny or fit girls such as yourself always feel that over-weight women such as myself are _sick_. You always want to help us with our body and _you pity us_, even tough some of you don't realize it."

Slowly, I glance around the restaurant, seeing that everyone has gathered around us to participate this sort of verbal quarrel.

She has noticed it too, but ignores them all the same and continues her story. "I recognized you from the beginning." She finally eyes the viewers and addresses them. "Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce miss Cornelia Hale, America's most wanted top model. Not only is she a beautiful goddess, she's also the _saviour_ of man kind," she banters.

Eventually, she ambles closer to me that her face are a couple of inches away from mine.

"You're not as pretty in real life, sweetheart. And I believed the media when they wrote that you're even prettier without all those tons of make-up smeared on your face," she barks at me.

I blanch at her speech, wanting desperately to walk away without looking back. But for some unknown reason my legs won't move away from their spot, they seem to be rooted to the floor. My brains tell me to remand something clever, because I know for certain this awkward situation will be in all tabloids by tomorrow. However, my mouth don't seem to cooperate with my brains.

A annoying, self-satisfied grim appears on her face as she realizes I don't react on her words. She decides to give it an extra nudge.

"Aw come on, no reflex, no retort, no nothing? At least, I _respected_ you earlier when she stood your ground against me. You proved me right on my theory about you little models, that you don't have enough wits to even protect yourself. All you girls can do, is just walk around on a platform. Then again, all you have to think then is right foot, left foot, right, left, right and etcetera."

Everyone starts laughing at me and still my legs nor my mouth want to obey to my brains. I feel tears coming up (I know, I should ignore her childish ranting but those words really hurt and sting). Not wanting to give her anymore satisfaction, I'm about to turn around and eat elsewhere. The moment I'm about to follow up these actions, a newly voice interjects.

"_What_ are you blabbering about?"

I whip my head around to spot Peter's face in the tiny crowd.

He pushes his way through the people, to end up next to me and to stand on the opposite side of the insulting woman.

"Look, I've known Cornelia for a very long time now. We even go back to high school. And I can assure you that all those nasty things you just said about her, are most certainly _not_ true."

The word '_bored_' is written all over the woman's face. She even feigns a yawn to express her emotion even more.

Regardless of her, Peter proceeds his own speech. "I met her through my baby sister and I never regretted the moment because I realized how amazing she truly is. She's caring, thoughtful and devoted. What _more_ do you want?"

On my previous sorrowful face cracks a sincere smile. You can't imagine how wonderful it is to hear all those passionate words (about me, nonetheless) coming from _his_ mouth. Even tough I know we're not together anymore, I still have these feelings for him.

The woman just exhales loudly and rolls her eyes. "God, this is so _pathetic_. I won't even waste my time and attention to _this_." She scrunches up her nose and turns around again to continue her argument with the skinny guy behind the counter.

Happy that she (finally!) leaves me alone, I jump on Peter and throw my arms around in his neck. He's startled at my sudden action and staggers backwards a smidge.

"Thanks a bunch for sticking up for me." I kiss him lightly on the cheek to show him my gratitude. Then, I cast my look up to him and I notice that he's blushing pink.

He scratches the back of his head nervously. "No prob. So, do you want a ride home?"

I furrow my brow, completely lost at his words.

He smirks at my confusion. "Or do you want to stay and live at the airport? The situation will turn out marvellous and funny as that one movie with Tom Hanks," he jokes and he laughs at his own joke.

I arch an eyebrow at him sceptically (_Who_ laughs at his _own_ joke? I mean, come on!).

His laughter dies down quickly. "It wasn't that hilarious, huh?" he questions sheepishly.

Expressionless, I shake my head.

"Sorry," he apologizes while he hangs his head down out of shame.

Smiling at his childish behaviour, I break our hug and query. "Peter, it's nice to see you again, but what exactly are you doing here?"

"I came here to give you a ride home," he states as if the matter is so obvious.

"What? I thought Hay Lin was coming for me. She called me before I got on the plane to wait for her."

"Well, there was a _tiny_ change of plans."

"And that may be…?" I inquire inquisitively, wanting to know for which reason I had to wait at the gate so long and why I had that annoying encounter with that rude woman (although the latter was something I could have prevented myself).

"Normally, Hay Lin would have picked you up but she had to attend something elsewhere. It was something about Eric's parents, mainly his mother. Anyway, she begged Taranee to come get you, she even loaned her car to my sister. But for some reason which I don't know by the way, Taranee also couldn't make it. She didn't even want to tell me, her big brother. That's why Taranee called me on my cell if I couldn't take care of it."

"Oh," is all that comes out of my mouth after his expanded explanation.

"So you ready to go home?"

"Yeah."

He takes my two giant suitcases by each hand, so that I only have to carry my handbag. He has always been the perfect gentleman, you know. Like a the _perfect_ Prince on a white stallion. Charming, handsome, sweet and smart are definitely words to describe him.

It's been three months since our break-up. Although I do have regrets about ending our relationship, I also _don't_ have regrets. It's kind of difficult to explain, but I truly adore him and we were great together, still I wanted something else. I felt that I was missing out on something. That's why I broke up with him and I'm glad we did it on friendly terms.

And yet, being here with him again, brings up all these past feelings.

He examines me from head to toe. "What's with the overly large t-shirt?"

I tuck at the bottom of my shirt. "What this?" I flush crimson. "N- Nothing, I just wanted to wear something comfortable, that's all."

"Ah, okay."

After that weird talk, silence descends upon us as we scamper towards his car outside.

When he spots his vehicle, he breaks the silence. "Look, there she is. Isn't she a beauty?" He points at it to show it to me.

I scowl at his question, tough it was more of a statement than a question. What is it with men and their cars? I mean, just look at it, it's a simple greyish-silver SUV. Come on, what's so spectacular about _that_?

He glances at me with a big toothy smile and I just can't taunt him with his obsession when he puts on that face of his.

So I merely smile and reply. "It's a _beauty_ all right."

Like aforementioned, Peter Cook is a true gentleman as he opens the door for me and places my luggage in the trunk. After he arranges my suitcases in the trunk, he himself steps inside the car behind the wheels. He starts the car with a turn on his keys and off we go.

It has been rather quiet in the car for the past three hours and a half, it's really uncomfortable. But what are you supposed to say to your ex whom you haven't seen in, like, three months. I know we're still friends and all that crap, but it still stays an embarrassing position.

"Can you turn on the radio?" I ask him politely.

For a split second he glances at me. "Sure," he responds.

Then, there's that eerie silence again before he turns on the music.

Unfortunately, it happens to be some cheesy love song. More importantly, about someone who sings about his old flame, how he misses her and stills loves her and how he wants to be with her again.

Damn, must that really come up _now_?

It's already awkward enough in here! Because of this, the tension grows even more.

"Cornelia," he addresses me just audible.

I whirl my head around to look at him. "Yes."

"I- euh-… I need-… Nothing," he stammers out.

Curiously, I raise an eyebrow at him. "Okay, tell me what's the matter, Peter," I prod, demanding to know what he wanted to say.

He heaves a sigh. "Fine. I have to be honest with you, right?" He cast his gaze at me to see if I agree with him, so I simply nod. "Well, I still love you, Cornelia."

"Peter, don't-…"

"It seems I just can't get you out of my head. Everywhere I go, you are there. I know that our break-up was for the best, but somehow it wasn't."

"Please, don't say-…," I plead, but I am cut shortly by his rambling.

"That sentence doesn't make any sense, I know. But I know that we shouldn't have ended our relationship. We were absolutely magnificent together. I still love you, Cornelia and I know deep down you still love me."

"Stop it!" I squall, not wanting to hear anymore.

He looks offended and doesn't speak another word to me.

I bury my face in my hands, still listening to that stupid song that probably encouraged Peter to admit his feelings to me.

Abruptly, I change the station into some rock music. Not really my style, but it will have to do for the last twenty minutes or so.

A pang of guilt suddenly shoots down my spine. God, I _can't_ believe what just happened! I know I shouldn't have been so harsh on him, but I can't deal with this now. I love him, I really do, yet I can't be with him.

"Peter, I'm sorry, I shouldn't ha-…"

He interrupts me. "No, it's alright," he reassures me, or more an _attempt_ to reassure me. He sounded so hollow, the words were actually fake.

I can't blame him, tough.

Especially, because he's right. Every single word was correct. I do know deep down I still return those feelings for him. I do know that we shouldn't have broken up because we were great together. We really had so much fun.

I remember that one time. No matter what, I will _always_ remember that one time.

It was winter and we went ice-skating on a lake instead of those ice tracks. Peter was surprisingly prodigious at it, although still not as prodigious as me of course. It didn't last very long, because out of the blue it started snowing. It was an amazing sight, something so simplistic turned into something so romantic.

Peter got this crazy idea of making snow-angels in the rising pack of snow. He just jumped on the thick snow and shoved his legs and arms to make his angel. I didn't want to throw my body on that cold watery ground, but he forced me by wrapping his arms around me and pushing me down. We laughed our asses of.

We just lay there after that little _fiasco_. All those tiny, beautiful snowflakes fell down upon us. Each were roughly the same size as the other, but then one snowflake flew right on my chin and Peter picked it up gently as to not damage it in any way. He noticed that that particular snowflake were two little snowflakes glued together. He remarked that we were like that one snowflake. Stick together, to form the perfect pair.

You see, that wasn't so romantic as I predict it but it was special for us. And that is all that mattered. You only carve those special memories in your heart.

Suddenly, my trail of thoughts was interrupted by Peter who parked the car next to my apartment building.

How long was I tuned out?

"Here you go," he chides.

My lips turn into a meek smile. "Home sweat home, huh?" I try to joke, but the tension is already build to its highest point.

"Yeah," he consents and opens his door to get out of the car.

I run a hand through my long blond hair annoyed.

Oh dear God, what have I done?

I really upset Peter by scolding at him like that. Well, who wouldn't be devastated if you reveal your feelings for somebody and that the other one blows you off like I did? I'm such an idiot! I need to make up for it somehow.

I know, I'll invite him for a drink inside and explain the whole situation to him.

I giggle in my mind. If this was a cartoon, then there would be a light bulb flashing above my head now.

Anyway, I also get out of the car and amble towards the trunk where Peter is hauling up my luggage, placing them on the pavement and handing me my handbag. He doesn't even make eye contact. That's pretty much enough evidence that it's not alright with him.

I scrape my throat anxiously. "Do you want something to drink?" I offer him.

Well, he's done nothing but nice to me by picking me up, bearing my suitcases and giving me a drive home. At least I can offer him _something_.

"No, it's okay. After I bring up your luggage, I better get going and check up on Taranee," he mutters.

I groan inwardly. No, I'm not planning on let it pass away like this. I've caused the damage and now I'm going to fix this. Even if it is the last thing I do!

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Cook! Now, you're coming with me to my apartment and you're going to have a drink with me," I point a threatening finger at him.

Finally, I spot a sincere smile on his lips, even tough it is still a weak smile. Hey, a smile is a smile and a smile is worth more than all the gold in the world.

"I don't hear any objections, so I suppose it's fine with you."

I swirl the handbag over my shoulder and head to the building, while Peter follows my lead.

The receptionist, Gregory, views me and greets me very enthusiastic. "Miss Hale, what a pleasant surprise! It's so good to see you again."

Promptly, he stands up from his chair and runs with open arms towards me. I'm more than willing to embrace him.

Gregory is about my age, a very sweet and cute guy. He's just an inch taller than me and has this black, curly hairdo. For about two years, he has worked here as the receptionist. Everybody in the building adores him. Then again, who's able to resist and detest this cute, friendly little man?

"It's good to see you too, Gregory."

He breaks the hug, but is still holding my hands. "You've gotten quite a tan being in Hawaii for that long. You're even prettier than before you left, which was almost impossible," he complements. Always the charming one, that boy.

I blush timidly. "You don't have to flatter me like that."

"Oh, I probably should give you the extra key since Miss Lair has left the building and still has your keys."

Peter looks at me all funny, while Gregory hurries to fetch me the extra key.

Before he informs what Gregory was talking about, I explain. "Since I was gone for a long time and since Irma's former roommate, Denise got married, Irma and I decided for the best that she would live with me. That way, Denise could live happily ever after with her husband and Irma could take care of my home while I'm gone for photo shoots and stuff like that."

"Ah," Peter mouths.

In the distance, we hear Gregory rattling. "Miss Lair is quite the funny one, isn't she? Always ready with a new set of hilarious jokes. She always cracks me up. Very spontaneous too and a gorgeous woman."

"Yeah, I think you have an eye for her," I conclude from his babbling.

He comes back jingling the key and a faint blush appears on his cheeks. He gives me the key and fumbles with his thumbs.

"Dude, you're not even denying it," Peter sneers.

I merely smile and wink at him. "Don't worry, we won't say a word." I head towards the lift with Peter and wave at Gregory as the doors close.

The ping goes when we have risen to the fourth floor. The doors slide open and we're able to get out to go to my apartment.

Once inside, I usher him to take a seat in the living room while I go get some drinks from the kitchen. I forgot to ask him what he wants, so I yell from inside the kitchen. "What do you want to drink!"

"What do you have!" he shouts back.

"Euhm…" I examine the fridge and see all kinds of sodas. "We got coke, lemonade, ice tea, Canada dry, milk, mineral water, wine, champagne, and beer!"

"You got a whole variety!"

I roll my eyes while I pour myself some lemonade.

"A beer will do!" he finally makes up his mind.

I take a bottle of beer out of the fridge wit hone hand, pick up my glass of lemonade in the other hand and push the door of the fridge close with my butt.

Then, I plop down next to him on the couch, while I place the drinks down on a coaster.

"Look, Cornelia," he starts, while opening his beer and take a huge gulp. It seems like the beer needs to calm him. "About before-… I'm sorry about blurting that out. I realize our relationship was a little shaky because of your feelings about Caleb and I shouldn't have brought it up in the car. But I do mean all-…"

I blink already sensing where he's going with this.

"Peter, it's okay. You don't need to do this," I hush him.

He sets his beer down again. "Yes, I do." He looks me straight in the eye. "I truly love you and I want to be with you. Every second I spend apart from you, a piece of me literally dies inside. Please, give me another chance."

I _can't_ take this anymore.

I _can't_ hear anymore what's coming out of his mouth.

He's too good for me, I just _don't_ deserve him. Especially, when I keep hiding this lie from him and everyone else.

Then, I break down in tears.

My vision may be blurry from the tears now, but I can see that he's concerned.

"What's wrong? Cornelia, did I hurt you in some way?"

"No, you didn't. I hurt myself," I reply in a squeaky voice. "I love you too, Peter. But I'm not worthy of you."

He smiles genuinely. "Yes, you are. It's actually the other way around."

Suddenly, he cups my face and kisses me. Oh my God, I forgot how _good_ his warm lips tasted. I know I shouldn't do this, but I can't resist it. I just let his tongue slip in my mouth and play with mine. Impulsively, I place my arms in his neck and then, he wraps one arm around my waist to pull me closer to him. Not having any control over myself anymore and just let me guide by him, he presses my back against the couch and softly, lies on top of me.

Then, he pushes himself up again with the palm of his hands. He's in a complete daze and is utterly confused. "Cornelia, what's with-…"

Before he can complete his question, I sigh. "Fine, I wanted to tell you before, but was scared."

"Then tell me now."

I sit back up again and close my eyes.

"Peter, I'm pregnant."

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**A/N:** Hope you liked that little twist!

_8/5/2006_

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	5. Chapter 5: Hay Lin

**More than a Game**

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**Life is more than a game you play. Because, after all, how can you win a game that has no rules? Drama/Romance

**A/N: **I don't know anything about Eric's parents, so if they're not anything like them in the comics, then I sincerely apologize that I gave them an entire new face. But it's all for the sake of the story, so if I did know something about them, then I would have changed them anyway. Oh, and this chapter is more than the previous ones. 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own (neither do I own the Godfather, Bill Clinton, and ET).

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Chapter 5: Hay Lin

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"Bon appétit, everyone." 

Neatly, she places the pots with food on the coasters. She grabs the bottle of champagne, uncorks it and pours the amber-coloured substance in all the glasses. Afterwards, she takes a seat next to her lovely husband and raises her own glass of the bubbly drink.

"I want to say a toast for my endearing son, Eric," she speaks when she receives everyone's attention.

Eric starts to blush and mutters. "Mom, please–… that's _not_ necessary. I don't need a toast."

She waves her hand to dismiss his previous statement. "Nonsense, don't be so modest." She smiles warmly at the rest of her company. "My _son_'s restaurant, the Silver Dragon, has been added to the _three_-star list of restaurants," she announces, chin high to emphasize her pride. I merely shift uncomfortably on my chair at her word-choice. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Most of them smile in return or give a small nod or applauds quietly to answer her (rhetorical) question, I observe.

Eric scrapes his throat to redirect all of the attention from his mother to himself. "Mother, shouldn't you correct you own slip?" He glowers at her, squeezing my hand to reassure me that he's there for me and that I'm not alone in this room full of uptight, snobby people.

"Which slip, son?" she asks, even tough she perfectly knows what he was implying. I know that she doesn't want to admit her intended slip of the tongue, especially since it involves _me_ being praised.

"The one that you mentioned that it's _my_ restaurant, when in fact it's _Hay Lin's_," he coos, emphasizing those words, like she did herself earlier. He swings an arm around my shoulders and surveys the visitors. "My dear mother has made a tiny mistake. It's not me who deserves an applaud, but my beautiful wife."

They then applaud softly for me, which makes me flush pink.

To be frank, I don't feel remotely at ease being here. I'm not the shy type like Taranee and Will, but when I'm here… I'm this complete _new _person. These people come from high classes and they don't resist the urge to cover it up either. You know, like lifting up their pink when they take a sip from their tea or after taking a small nibble from their high-class food, they wipe the corner of their mouths with their silk napkins and they use these insanely big words. When me and my friends on the contrary, gulp down our drinks, use cotton napkins and talk _normal_!

So in other words, I'm completely out of my environment.

Thank heavens that Eric didn't turn up that way. He's only like that when he visits his _lovely_ parents. But with me, he's more like–… well, _me_.

I remember the first day I had the pleasure of acquainting with his parents. His mother didn't pay any attention to me, only to her son and when she did show anything remotely to attention, then it was only to throw me a snappy banter. Eric's father however, is a sweet man, but he made those (and still does) terrible, awful jokes to lighten up the tension in the room. Of course I force myself to laugh at them, when in my mind I think _'what is so damn funny about _that_?'_.

Luckily, his mother become a bit (but only a tiny bit) more civilized to me. But I mean as civilized as she can get. Because one time, she insisted that I studied the etiquette and shoved that heavy book in my arms. It was her way in mentioning: _'You're _not_ polite enough to become a part of _this_ family!'_. Anyway, I tried my very best to adapt to all those rules, but it's not so easy. Eventually, she laid down her battle troops and made an attempt to accept me as I truly am. Which, of course, she failed at.

Now, she has become a nicer mother-in-law to me, occasionally and very rarely. Actually, it is only when Eric is around to prevent her from saying all those mean things to me. Either way, I try my best to ignore all her down-bringing comments, such as _'If you're Chinese, why don't you live _there_?'_ and many more of those.

Suddenly, I'm being pulled out of my train of reminiscing, when Eric's mother purses her lips together in agony and apologizes. "But of course, Eric. You're absolutely right, please forgive my terrible mistake." Her lips are twisted in a sugary smile, directed at me and I smile half-heartedly in return to signal that she is forgiven.

His father glances around the table and chuckles. "Well, why don't we resume our dinner, before it gets too cold." He turns to his wife and adds. "But nice speech all the same, Victoria."

Her (already fake) smile fades within the second and is replaced by a barely noticeable scowl. She recovers from it rapidly, smiles once again at her visitors and consents to her husband's remark. "Bon appétit," she repeats her earlier statement.

The small dinner-party elapses most part in silence, some words are being exchanged here and there. But in overall, it's very quiet and peacefully.

After the party, Eric volunteers to do the dishes with me, while his parents can clean up the dining room. I do the washing-up, while he dries all the plates and glasses since I don't have any clue where to put everything onto their rightful places.

"I'm sorry about my mother's behaviour–… _again_," he sighs exasperatedly.

I roll my eyes at his apology, it wasn't even for him to make. Airily, I mumble. "It's okay. I should be getting used to it by now, which I am by the way. So you don't need to apologize on her behalf."

He picks up one of the porcelain plates from his mother's antique collection and waves it a bit so that the watery droplets fly off the plate. That way, his drying towel won't get too wet fast.

"I know that, but–…," he pauses shortly. "I just want you two to get along." He pouts at me when I cock an eyebrow at his admitting. "I know you're already being the bigger person, but can you try and be an even bigger person?"

I snort, a little taken aback by his question. "How can I possibly be an even bigger person than I already am? Even if I could, it wouldn't make any difference, Eric. She hates me with all her guts and there's nothing you or I or anyone else for that matter can change that." I stop doing the dishes and grab his hand to cover it up with my own hands. "I'm sorry, honey. But that's the way it is and you're going to have to accept that."

He cast his gaze down sadly, but I cup his chin so that I can tilt his head to force him to look at me.

Sorrowfully, I smile at him. "If I can accept that and if even you father can, then you can too." I turn back around to resume the dishes. "Even if it's hard," I add.

"You're right."

"Of course I am," I say defiantly. "Besides, we're going home tonight, so it doesn't matter until we're back."

"Yeah, about that–…," he mumbles and is cut shortly when his mother waltz in all joyfully.

Victoria ambles towards her son and pinches his cheek childishly. Which is more of an embarrassment for him. "Your father and I are going out now. Thank you for watching after the house for us. We'll be back very late, but I don't think you mind." She pecks him on the cheek. "I couldn't wish for a greater son than you."

His father, Carlton, calls out to his wife. "Vicky, we should be going!"

"Okay, bye." She hugs her son briefly and smiles at me, although it is more that kind of a smile like drop-death-sweetie-if-it-wasn't-for-Eric-you'll-be-six-feet-under-a-long-time-ago.

So I smiles back meekly and say. "Goodbye, Mrs Lyndon, have fun."

She glowers at me, while she links her arm with her husbands and walks out the door.

The moment they're out of sight, I turn to Eric and smack his arm. "Why in God's name are we watching after the house?" I bark at him. "You promised we would leave tonight!"

"I know, I know, but I can't say no to my mom. She pleaded me to stay one more night," he tries to justify himself.

Irritated, I scrunch up my nose. "Argh, I don't care! I can't stay here for another night. Three nights in a row is just too much for me to handle!"

"I promise you, we'll be out of here by tomorrow," he soothes. "For real."

My lips switch into a pout and I raise my pinkie at him. "Pinkie swear?" I ask sweetly.

He wraps his pink around mine and shakes it. "Pinkie swear."

"Good," I huff jokingly and make a bowl out of my hands to fill it with water and foam, and then throw it at him.

"Hey!" he squalls surprised at my sudden action.

"Uh, don't be such a baby," I taunt, while throwing some more water mingled with foam at him all laughing.

He holds up his arms in front of him to block the water attacks (that's funny, _water_ attacks is not in character for me, I should be attacking with _air_). He laughs and steps up to the sink where I'm currently standing still playing with the water.

"That's it," he declares. "You're getting a taste of your own medicine," he smirks wickedly Then, he grabs a large beer glass to fill it with the water from the sink and hovers it above my head. "Surrender now or face the consequences," he jokes with a very deep and stern manly voice.

I giggle, a bit recovering from all the fits of laughter before. "Never," I hurtle out bravely.

"Your choice."

He lets the water spill away from the glass, all the droplets splash onto my head and stream down my face onto the floor.

I yelp at the warm feeling of the water.

When he's done, he dries the glass of with his towel and places it in the cupboard. "Okay, that was fun. So what about–…"

I interrupt him with a loud battle-cry. "Water-fight!" Roughly, I splash more water at him.

I initiate a huge water battle. We each have our own sink with water, although mine is the sink that has water mixed with foam. During fits of laughter, we throw as much water as we can at the other.

Suddenly, Eric waves his white with red stripes towel. "I surrender with grace."

To prevent the surfacing laughter, I clap a hand in front of my mouth and merely giggle. I survey the kitchen and notice they're small pools of water on the floor. I guess we shouldn't have used the water from the faucets too. In the heat of the battle, we weren't thinking straight anymore and now, the whole kitchen is a water mess.

"Whoops," is all that comes out of my mouth.

Eric scratches the back of his head pensively. "I believe we ought to clean up everything before my parents come back and my mother gets a stroke or something."

"I think that's a very good idea."

"Okay," Eric mutters while observing the place. "I'll mob the floor while you proceed the dishes. It's a two-man's job that we can handle." He smiles. "It's like we're at the restaurant again."

"Yeah," I reply lamely. "I think we should go back tomorrow. It isn't good if we keep the restaurant closed for one more day. We're losing enough customers as it is."

Eric heaves a shagged sigh. "I saw it last time."

"And if we don't have customers, we don't receive money," I pinpoint.

"Maybe we should come up with something to attract the customers."

"But _what_?"

Eric claps his tongue. "Well, euh–…," he pauses, thinking. "Perhaps we could announce that Cornelia is eating at our place, that must excite a lot of people."

Reluctantly, I furrow my brow. "I don't know," I mumble.

"Why not?" he inquires, a tad bewildered at my mumbling.

"Because– Because the Silver Dragon is one of the few restaurants Cornelia can eat peacefully, meaning without the press!" I snap at the last end of sentence. "I promised her that it would stay her little sanctuary. And I don't intend to break that promise anytime soon."

Eric nods. "You're right. You're a true pal. But I must say that once in a while it's okay to think for yourself instead of someone else. You do so much for your friends that it's about time they do something in return. They already eat with discount at the Silver Dragon."

"I don't know," I mutter again, still reluctant of the idea.

"Don't make me do my impression of the _Godfather's_: '_I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse_'."

I laugh. "Eric, sweetie, how many times do I have to tell you? Your _Godfather_ impression sucks."

His mouth hangs open in embarrassment. "What?" he shrieks. "I believe my impression gets better and better."

Now, I even laugh louder and harder that my stomach begins to ache.

"Don't you laugh at me, young lady."

I try to stop laughing, but it has no avail, although it does begin to die down. I wipe the springing tears away from my eyes. To comfort him a bit, I hug him gently.

"I'm sorry, Eric," I apologize, still laughing a bit. "But you got to face it, you stink at impersonating the Don."

"Well, it may suck, but at least it's still better than yours," he replies smugly.

I hit his arm playfully. "Watch it, mister." I point a threatening finger at him. "But about your suggestion for the restaurant–… I'll think about it."

"You do that while we clean up this pig stall of a kitchen."

I grin happily and head my way over to the sink to refill it with water and proceed the dishes, of what's left of it really.

Eric, on the other hand, fetches the mob to sour the floor. With big swipes and whirls of his mob, he cleans the floor. Afterwards it's all sparkly and so clean that you could almost see your own reflection like in the mirror.

Not knowing where everything goes, I pile up the plates and etcetera on the table so that Eric can put everything onto its rightful place.

When we're done, we proudly observe the kitchen that was a total mess earlier. Eric smirks satisfied at me and I wink at him.

"What wonders a little teamwork can create, huh?" he questions rhetorically.

"So, what do we do now?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Don't know."

"Why don't you switch through the channels to see what's on, while I change into my pyjama's?" I suggest.

"Okay," he answers while heading towards to living room and while I amble towards his room where I'm currently sleeping.

Carlton planned out that I sleep in Eric's bedroom, while Eric sleeps on the foldable couch in the living room. If they had a guestroom, they would have put me in there, but they don't. And if it was up to Victoria, it would have been me to sleep on the couch while Eric could comfortably lie on his bed. But Eric protested at his mother's idea and politely said that the guests should be treated as such, you know the guest always gets the best. Something I always hold onto and it rhymes as well, which makes it easy to remember too.

Anyway, I change from my fancy dress (which I was obliged to wear on tonight's occasion, meaning the dinner party) into my soft, favourite pyjama's.

I remember the day I bought those. It was a lovely summers day, when Eric (who was being dragged by force, actually) and I went shopping, because Eric desperately needed some new underpants. Really, they were getting all dirty, grey and had a few holes here and there. It was no longer a sight.

So we were wandering in the streets and then, all of the sudden, it started raining cats and dogs. Therefore, we had to search for a shelter from the rain and the first thing we stumble upon was this pyjama store. Since there was no ending to the rain, we were stuck there for a couple of hours. Eerily, we were the only two people in the store, excluding the storekeeper, who came to us if we wanted any help, but we merely said that we didn't.

Thus, we looked around the petite, but adorable store. Of course, Eric kept taking the sexy pyjama's, you know the ones with little covering up and mostly see-through fabric. He tried to persuade me to buy one or more of those things. But he only did it to tease me and to make me blush scarlet.

I kept searching through the funny pyjama's, but saw nothing of my taste. It was then that Eric found my present pyjama's. It was flannel, lavender-coloured pyjama's. very soft and comfortable to sleep in. It was two-parted, a shirt and trousers. And the best thing of all, was the slogan on the pyjama-shirt. It said '_Done counting the sheep, already of to Dreamland_'. Eric found it _divine_ (to quote him exactly) and bought them for me. I wore it as much as possible. And I never stopped wearing it ever since.

That's why this is my favourite pyjama.

I know it's a bit silly, but I like those kind of memories.

Anyway, when I'm done putting on my pyjama's, I scamper back to the living room, where Eric is sitting on the three-seat couch. I happily plop myself next to him and snuggle into his chest while he drapes an arm around my shoulders.

He's switching through the channels, seeking something worth watching.

Wonder by wonder, but he stumbles upon the first _Godfather_ movie. I mean, what are the odds?

He chuckles. "Hey, maybe I can improve my impression now?"

I snort. "Yeah right." I roll my eyes sarcastically. "Like watching the movie one more time, is going to improve it. Honey, take my word for it, but _your_ impression is _never_ going to improve."

"Have a little faith in me, will you?" he asks, a little down by my comment.

I kiss him on the cheek. "You're absolutely right. As your wife I should be supportive," I state simply and confident.

Genuinely, he smiles at me. "Thanks."

"But as your wife, I'm obliged to tell you the truth. Hereby I tell you that your impression will never get better," I add jokingly, yet serious and sincere at the same time.

"Thanks," he says dryly, hanging his head down.

I cup his face with my hands and force him to look at me. "Aw, sorry baby. I'm just toying with you." I give him a little Eskimo kiss. "Besides, it's not because your _Godfather_ impression sucks that all you other impressions sucks too."

He smirks, feeling better. "Which one _do_ you like then?" he informs curious.

"Well–….," I stop, thinking which one I do like best.

_Damn_, he has so many impressions and most of them are really, really bad. But then his greatest pops in my head. Of course _that_ one is his best.

I grimace cockily. "I got it."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, you certainly took your time to figure it out," he points out dully. "Now, which one is it?"

"_ET_."

He scrunches up his nose, appalled by my answer. "_E…T…_?" he repeats questioningly.

"Yes," I simply state.

"You really have an obsession with aliens, don't you?"

I stare at him wide-eyed. "It's not like that…"

He raises his eyebrows at me in a way of: '_come on, I know it, you know it, shortly everyone knows it_'.

I open my mouth to protest some more, but promptly shut it. "Okay, you're right. I do have an obsession. But your _ET_ impression is truly the best," I mention simply.

"I thought it would be my _Bill Clinton_."

"Honey, _no_."

"What do you mean '_no_'?"

I lick my dry lips. "What the words implies 'no'. Your _Bill Clinton_ sucks too."

"It does _not_," he defends his impression, like he has to defend his honour.

"It does."

"Whatever," he grumbles. "So, you definitely think my _ET_ impression is the best?" He fingers the strap of my trousers absentmindedly.

"Definitely."

"For real?"

I smile. "For real, no one does that finger thingy better than you do."

He stretches out his index finger and impersonates _ET_'s voice. "_ET, phone home_."

I laugh and clutches my stomach.

He arches an eyebrow. "Is it really _that_ good?"

"Yeah, the voice, the face, the extremely and exceptionally long finger…. It's all there," I explain matter-of-factly.

"Thanks," he chides dryly again.

"You're welcome."

He sighs. "You know, I should give you some kind of token for my gratitude."

"You can buy me a present tomorrow."

"Nah, I'll hand it over now."

Next thing I know, he begins tickling me and everyone knows I'm ticklish everywhere. I scream out (well, you know more like laugh out) 'no' to cause him to stop. But it has no use. Not that I really mind tough either.

I slide of the couch, not really knowing that I do and he follows my lead. I lie on the ground flat on my back and he crawls on top of me to continue his tickling. Also for the fact that I can't attempt an escape again.

"Stop–…," I laugh, tears streaming down my face. "Stop–… I can't–…," I stutter out. "I can't take it anymore."

He smiles at my begging and immediately stops the tickling. Not saying anything – only with a big, goofy grin plastered on his face – he sits down on the couch again.

With the back of my hand, I rub the tears from my face and lean back up. I let my elbows rest on my knees, still sitting on the floor. Well, the floor is pretty comfortable, because its carpeted with fine, embroidered fabric. It's one of those carpets you have to spend a fortunate on just to buy it. Expensive, but very good quality. My bottom heartedly agrees with my thinking.

"So, have you contemplated the Cornelia-issue?" Eric suddenly questions, leaving me speechless at his promptness.

I find my tongue again and reply. "I've been back and forth on your solution," I sound serious, as if the previous (hilarious) scene hasn't occurred at all.

"Care to explain?"

Exasperatedly, I heave a deep sigh. "Well, I don't want to break my promise with her, but on the other hand–… We need the money. Especially, if we're going to have kids. Because if this rate of losing customers continues than I think we'll get bankrupt."

He curls a strand of my hair around his finger. "Honey, maybe you should sleep on it," he suggest wisely. "I realise it's a difficult situation for you."

I whirl my head around to look him straight in the eye. "I know, but you're right. I should think for myself this one time. Cornelia ought to comprehend it. She knows how much we've been trying to get children and like I said before, kids cost a lot of money," I bite the inside of my mouth stupidly. "Now, that sounded so rude for me to say."

He pulls me onto the couch next to him. "No, it's not rude, it's merely the truth. Kids _do_ cost a lot of money," he strokes my hair affectionately. "Speaking of which, when do you ovulate again."

"Wait," I comment, looking through my schedule in my mind. The last time I had my monthly visit was roughly thirteen, fifteen days ago, so that means…

"Right about now," I answer perky.

"Well, then," he mumbles through his kisses on my jaw line. "Then maybe we should make some babies."

I giggle, lying down on my back so he can lie on top of me. We passionately kiss each other. He loosen up the buttons of my pyjama-shirt, while I tuck down his trousers. Just when he's about to shove the shirt of my shoulders, the front door opens wildly.

Victoria walks in and immediately claps a hand in front of her eyes. Following behind her, Carlton stares at us on the couch and mutters out. "Oh dear."

Eric jumps of me startled and I swing my shirt closed embarrassed by this sudden twist of event.

And the only word that rings through my head is _fuck_.

**

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A/N:** The typical twist... lol

_8/22/2006_

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	6. Chapter 6: Will

**More than a Game**

* * *

Life is more than a game you play. Because, after all, how can you win a game that has no rules? Drama/Romance 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

**

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**

Chapter 6: Will

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Buckle up: 

It's been two months and eight days since I received some '_loving_' from Matt.

Seriously, there's something wrong with that picture, right?

When we first went out, we consummated like bunnies and now? Now, I'm practically begging for it. Every night happens the same thing; I'm lying in bed (most of the time with sexy, revealing lingerie), he comes home late only muttering 'goodnight' and then he crawls in bed. Without giving a kiss or baby, how was your day or mama, what are you wearing?

_Nothing_.

Absolutely nothing.

I just don't get it.

Is there something wrong with me? Am I not hot enough? Or sexy? Or even _good_ enough?

I got to tell you, last night was the _final_ draw.

Last night I was lying (in a very _comfortable_ position) on the bed, without anything on. I had gone to the beauty parlour to get a lovely noticeable tan, to get my hair waxed off and to get a bikini strip. After that, I had gone to the hair salon to cut my hair (well, only the ends) and to curl it so that my hair looked special for a change. I hate to say it, but I looked phenomenal.

He staggers into the bed room and looked like a car had run over him… _twice_. Not once did he cast his gaze at me, he just threw himself on the bed and fell asleep. He didn't even undressed himself, didn't even care to turn off the lights and he didn't feel the need to say goodnight to me.

_He just fell asleep_.

I'm eating lunch right now and he's going to join me any second. I'm reliving that awful scene, only because I want to stay mad at him. Knowing myself, when I see his smile or his handsome face, I'll just cave in and forget everything that happened. But not this time!

Thus, I'm crunching my cornflakes, scrapingmy teeth against each other intended. I'm trying to propose as a menace if he dares to show his face in here.

As expected he waltz into the kitchen with his bathrobe tied close. I, on the hand, have already washed myself and have casual clothing on.

"Hey," he says while filling himself a bowl of cornflakes.

Still angry, I don't say anything in return. Giving him the silent treatment will give him a few hints that I'm so pissed of at him right now.

However, he doesn't notice it and merely continues his rattling. I don't listen to a word he says anyway. He may ramble on and on, but I don't care. Why should I though? It's _him_ who's hurting _me_, not the other way around. So I don't listen anymore, stop caring about anything that's remotely about him and–…

How am I kidding?

I can't fool myself, I love him too much to stop caring and listening.

But I'm still so, _so _pissed of right now. That won't change by simply loving him.

At last, I open up my ears to him again and I hear him babbling about his band Cobalt Blue, about yesterday and about the reason (combining the aforementioned two matters) why he was home so late again.

"Yeah, he told us we needed to write more new songs because of that. So I went to the river to brainstorm over a new song. And suddenly, the idea hit me square in the face. All because I saw _your_ beautiful face in the reflection of the stream." He kisses me on the top of my head while saying those words. "That's why–…"

Then, I can't take it anymore and I explode. "_What_ is the matter with _you_!"

He blinks. "Wh– What are you talking about?" he asks appalled by my sudden outburst.

"Oh sorry, didn't you understand me?" I ask faking concernedness, although the venom is loud and clear in my voice. "Let me rephrase that– What is the matter with you? Is there something wrong with your head? Or did a basketball hit you too hard last time?"

"Will, honey,…"

I really wanted to hear what he was going to say next, but I impulsively cut him of shortly instead.

"Don't you '_honey_' me, you bastard," I hiss through gritted teeth.

All of the sudden, I'm amazed by all this anger that's erupting. That is so out of character for me, it's more like a Cornelia thing to do. Perhaps even Irma, but not _me_. Even though, I'm starting to get a little scared of myself, it feels so darn good to let it all out.

"Excuse me, did you just call me a bastard?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, you heard me right," I reply dully. "You are a bastard, a big _fucking_ bastard!"

Oh my God, I'm even swearing right now, what on earth is going on with me? I can't help myself, before I think my words properly through, they just fly out of my mouth.

"Will, what's wrong? Why are you calling me a bastard?" he asks, the hurt sparkling in his eyes.

Once again, I can't resist it and drop down the ice cold exterior immediately. I knew from the beginning I would soften up to him, even though I insisted to myself that I wouldn't. I may drop the act, I'm still going to prod to find out what's been on his mind these past two months.

"Why don't you tell me?" I inquire, folding my arms in front of my chest to still show that I'm still mad– or rather furious. At least I'm not yelling or cursing anymore.

He opens his mouth to respond, but shuts it promptly and simply stares at me ignorantly.

The anger is surfacing again. "Oh my God, Matt." My hands get tangled in my hair at each side of my face, something I do when I get frustrated. "You don't even realise why I am mad at you, do you?"

"N– No, I don't–…,"

I interrupt again. "Sheesh, Matt. I don't know what to do with you anymore." I turn around to walk away from him before I truly (and nastily) burst.

His hand snakes around my arm and he whirls me around so that we're face to face.

"Please, Will. Tell me what I did wrong."

I close my eyes, not daring to look at him anymore. And I don't answer either.

He shakes me a bit, as if he has to wake me up. "Please," he begs with incredible huge puppy dog eyes and pout-y lips. Now who can resist such an adorable sight?

"Fine," I huff. "I'll tell you–…," I sigh defeated at my own game. "Only because you're an idiot, but a cute one at that."

He smiles at me, while he ushers me to sit back down on the chair, where I previously sat down. I regard his eyes intently as I'm reading his true emotions in those dark brown pools of his. He knows why I'm so mad at him, I can tell, but he simply wants me to vent my buried (well, this complication is elapsing two months) feelings.

Slowly, I inhale to relax myself a smidge. "I'm mad at you because of the fact that you–… well, you–… you know," I stutter out, a bit timid to say the actual words.

His arched eyebrows seem to mock my shyness. Then a huge smirk appears on his lips.

My mouth part slightly at first. "Are you _mocking_ me? Do you _enjoy_ seeing me like _this_?"

He chuckles. "No, no, of course not." He scrapes his throat to regain his seriousness, but it doesn't help and he laughs softly. "Well, frankly yeah, it's funny."

"Oh my God," I exclaim annoyed and I'm about to stand up, but he grabs my wrist to stop me once again.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes sincerely. "Please, stay."

I simply stare piercingly in his eyes, but I don't sit back down because I don't have the strength any longer. I don't know what to do anymore. I just don't.

I'm already on the edge to get a nervous breakdown because of him and he keeps messing around!

He senses I'm starting to erupt with anger again, I suppose since he exhales sharply and looks quite sorrowful. Suddenly, he stands up and steps up to my front. He grabs my hands and caresses them tenderly.

Slowly, I look down at our entangled hands and frown at the sight. Abruptly and roughly, I withdrew my hands and fold my arms so he can't grab them anymore. His face falls at my sudden and rude action, but I can care less.

Anxiously, he scrapes his dry throat to find his voice again. "Will, I'm sorry for the last two months–…"

"No, you're not," I interrupt, death glaring at him.

"Excuse me?"

I snort irately. "You're not sorry, you're not even anything remotely to the feeling of sorry. I can tell just with one look at your eyes." I unfold my arms and clap a hand in front of my eyes devastated. "I'm not even sure if you love me anymore," I finally get it off my chest. I finally speak out the burden that has been weighing on my shoulders these last months.

"What?" he ask on a barely audible voice. "Are you being serious?"

Closing my eyes, I nod once.

"How can you possibly say that? How can you even think that?"

I merely shrug my shoulders. "I don't know, I just do with everything that has been going on," I mumble dully.

"Will, I do love you. Despite everything that happened or may not happened or for the fact that I ignored you. I'm terribly sorry and I don't know how, but I want to make up for it," he says determinedly, while forcing me to look at him by lifting up my chin with his hand.

I don't say anything in return. Don't have the will or strength anymore.

"Please Will, say something… anything," he pleads.

I sigh fatigued.

"Please, Will. I love you."

A tear rolls down my cheek.

"I love you too, Matt. But lately–… it's too much for me to handle."

He wipes the tear away with one stroke of his thumb. And the feeling of his warm flesh keeps lingering on my skin, which makes me stand tip-toed and kiss him softly and gently on his lips. When I withdrew my pink-tainted lips away from his, I gaze deeply in his dark brown orbs. He meets my gaze and stares as hard as me in return.

The next thing we know, we embrace each other as fast as we can. It happens so rapidly that no human eye can detect our movements. Our lips lock fiercely and we fall on the floor of the kitchen, him on top of me. We don't need foreplay since we undress each other quickly and get down to business…

Afterwards, we lay entangled on the floor, panting and sweating. That must be, without a doubt, the wildest sex I have ever had!

"Let's never fight again," he whispers in my ear soothingly.

I'm more than happy to oblige to his statement, but then a thought occurs to me.

"But then we won't have the make-up sex anymore," I banter, knitting my brow.

He chuckles. "That's a good point." He kisses the top of my head and glances at the clock hanging above the kitchen door. "Euhm, honey…"

"Yes, dear…"

"Weren't you supposed to meet your friends at the Silver Dragon by five o'clock?" he asks, reminding me of my appointment.

"…yes," I simply answer.

"Then you should be hurrying 'cause it's already five fifteen," he pinpoints.

My eyes widen. "Oh my God." I quickly wriggle out (although much to my discomfort) out of Matt's hug and put on my clothes. I peck Matt on the cheek and jog towards the door.

"Bye Matt!" I yell out on my way.

I run as fast as my legs can bear to the Silver Dragon. Bumping and knocking over a few people on the way, I keep on sprinting. Of course I scream a 'sorry' to those persons, I don't help them get on their feet again, which is a very rude thing to do of me.

I finally make it to the restaurant, where I see everyone – save from Cornelia, Irma and Orube – sitting at one of the tables.

Hay Lin catches a glimpse of me and flies straight into my arms. Taranee, being more adult-like, simply waves hello and ushers me to sit down next to her.

"So what's this big emergency thingy?" I ask, since I received an urgent message on my cell phone yesterday.

"Don't know," Hay Lin replies, raising her eyebrows. "Irma phoned me yesterday to ask to invite you two and Orube here. She didn't explain her question further, so we're as clueless as you are."

Taranee shrugs her shoulders casually. "We'll discover the problem when she arrives." She cast her gaze at me and smirks wryly. "How are things between you and Matt? Still no loving?"

I blush pink and decide it's more comfortable when I regard my hands.

Taranee's mouth parts slightly because she's surprised by my blushing, while Hay Lin exclaims perky. "You did _it_, didn't you?"

Biting my lower lip timidly, I bob my head in confirmation.

"That's so great," Hay Lin cheers joyfully.

"I hate to spoil the moment, but… _how_?" Taranee questions, furrowing her brow inquisitively.

I grin self-satisfied. "Well,… I simply confronted him with the matter and we ended up saying how much we love each other and then, in the heat of the moment we expressed our love."

"That's wonderful, I'm truly happy for you."

"Me too," Hay Lin adds.

Silence quickly overcomes us, but it goes as quickly as it came, because Orube walks in. Her face is immersed in worry, as her brow is wrinkled and a frown appears on her features. She takes a seat next to Hay Lin without exchanging a word with any of us.

Hay Lin, Taranee and I glance at each other with arched eyebrows and in a way of 'what's troubling her?'.

Taranee decides to take this on her part. "What's wrong, Orube?"

The warrior sighs shaggily. "Nothing," she chides.

"You can't fool us, sweetie." Hay Lin smiles, trying to cheer the girl up. "Come on, get it off your chest."

Orube inhales sharply, caving in by Hay Lin's comforting smile.

"I– I just feel so lonely at that goddamn forsaken house," she blurts out. "It's so big and I 'm always alone in there." She buries her face in her hands.

Hay Lin places a soothing hand on Orube's shoulder.

"I know the feeling," Taranee whispers darkly, more to herself than to us, but we hear it nonetheless.

Orube scrunches her nose in amazement by Taranee's sudden reply. "What are you talking about? You got Nigel, don't you?"

Taranee rolls her eyes sarcastically and huffs. "Sure, because he's always home and never at work. Yeah, I see him all the time. And we always sleep together and crawl into bed at the same time. Sure, everything is fine."

"Ouch," is all I can think of to say at her very sarcastic commentary.

"What about Danny? Can't he give you some company?" Hay Lin queries.

Taranee's face grows dim for a split second, but she recovers from it with great speed. Instead she takes a sip from her soda before she hisses. "No. Let's drop it, okay?"

I knit my eyebrows together startled. "If that's what you want."

Then Taranne excuses herself, because she needs to powder her nose. She probably needs a moment to herself, since she has serious issues with Nigel… apparently.

"At least she got a boyfriend," Orube remarks grimly.

Hay Lin blows out a wind of tiredness. "What is it today with the darkness? Come on, people. Be a little more optimistic."

Orube just death glares at her and Hay Lin shuts her mouth promptly.

"Never mind then," she murmurs on her guard for another death glare.

"Maybe Hay Lin can set you up with someone too, like she's doing with Irma," I banter, winking at our gloom warrior.

Orube shifts uncomfortably on her chair and flushes crimson at my choice of words. Hay Lin and I exchange a weird and suspicious look, and Orube – noticing that – begins to mutter awkwardly. "No, no–… that's not–… certainly not necessary. I don't need blind dates." Her blush even increases . "I'll be fine."

"If you say so." Hay Lin frowns at her, not comprehending anything that just happened. Me neither, for that matter.

Taranee comes back sitting down at her previous chair. She scans the table and informs. "Irma and Cornelia still not here?"

I simply shake my head.

Speaking of the devil – or in this case, _the two devils_ – Cornelia and Irma enter the Silver Dragon right on cue. Irma has a supporting arm around Cornelia's shoulder, who is wearing an overly, unsuitable (out of character for her) large dress by the way. _That_ is most certainly a queer sight.

They sit down one the non-used chairs, Irma still holding Cornelia for support. We all arch an eyebrow at them… you can't blame us, most of the time those two are fighting over God knows what and now… now they come in like best of friends (which they have always been, but never acted like such).

Cornelia sighs deeply and eyes us strongly. "Irma and I gathered you guys because I have important news. So I'm just going to say it how it is," she pauses, as if she needs to convince herself one last time to tell us, yes or no.

Still annoyed by the previous topic, Taranee prods unfriendly. "Just say it!"

Cornelia snaps her eyes open at her, expecting to receive some support and comfort from us all, but getting a reaction like that in her face. Not pleased by Taranee's outburst, Irma barks back at our African-American girl.

"What's your problem, Cook? Cornelia is having a difficult time right now and you just–…"

Taranee slams her hands on the table furious. "Well, _we all_ have problems, _Lair_, but you don't see us bitching and whining about it."

"Maybe you need to shut up and listen for–…," Irma remands.

"I'm pregnant," Cornelia intervenes softly.

Irma and Taranee stop quarrelling at once, and we all redirect our focus from Irma and Taranee to Cornelia.

Cornelia fumbles of the ends of her sleeves and she repeats her statement a little bit louder this time. "I'm pregnant."

"Oh my God, are you… _certain_?" I ask perplexed by this sudden twist of event.

She nods and presses her dress against her stomach so that we can see the form of her growing belly.

Hay Lin's face drops at once, which doesn't go unnoticed by me. I know – via Irma actually – who hard she's trying to get pregnant by Eric. But she never succeeds, the poor thing. Now one of her best friends, who probably didn't want to get knocked up, happened to get pregnant somehow.

Our Chinese girl recovers from her bewilderment (and quite frankly, shock) and frowns querying. "Who's the father… if you don't mind telling us?"

"I don't."

Promptly, Cornelia stops fumbling with her sleeves and eyes us intently.

"But I don't know who the father is exactly," she whispers ashamed and embarrassed.

My mouth falls open and the expressions of the others (except for Irma) is similar to mine.

"Wait a minute for us to let this sink in," Taranee coos. "Do you have a list with _potential fathers_ then?"

"To be honest,… yes."

"Which ones?" I inquire quite curious.

Cornelia sighs once more. "Firstly, there's Rick Fortworth."

"You mean that affair wasn't just a rumour?" Hay Lin wonders aloud.

Cornelia chuckles, quite amused with the youngest member. "No, it wasn't. Although it was a very, very short affair and I sincerely doubt he's the father. But, anything's possible," Cornelia explains matter-of-factly.

"Then, there's Caleb," she continues prompting her list.

"Caleb? But you guys were over, like more than ten years now. Wasn't he together with Elyon since last year? How– How could _that_ be even possible?" I point out, eyes widening by the second.

Blushing a bit, she confesses. "Well, he and Elyon broke up roughly three months ago and I was visiting her because I thought she could use some support, while in fact it was him who needed comfort… so I did comforted him, in a weird sort of way, if you catch my drift." She blushed even more by her (pretty easy to decode) riddle.

"Jesus Christ," Orube mumbles.

"And my brother?" Taranee ask, knitting her eyebrows together.

Anxiously, the blonde bites her lower lip. "Well, he's the last on my list. As you all know, Peter and I ended on good terms. And by _good terms_ I mean…," Cornelia cringes at our accusing looks.

Taranee covers her ears with her hands. "Don't want to know. Don't put those mental pictures in my head!" she practically shrieks.

I ignore Taranee's whimpering (can't blame her though) and ask Cornelia. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I already told Peter, when I actually wanted to do one of test thingies first, to determine who's the real father. But Peter already said that he wanted to be there for me."

"Aw, how sweet," Hay Lin chirps, having a dreamy look on her face.

I stand up, grabbing my purse and swinging it over one shoulder. "I have to go, I need to make dinner for Matt," I remark.

I observe Orube averting her eyes away guiltily at the sound of Matt's name. As much as I want to stay here and get to the bottom of _that_ scenery and of Cornelia's newly complication, I have to leave.

"Bye you guys," I salute them, walking towards the exit.

They say their goodbyes as well, but I hear them vaguely as I close the door behind me.

On my way home, I still ponder over everything.

I feel bad for Hay Lin, I understand completely why she is jealous of Cornelia. Our youngest friend has been trying so hard to get pregnant and she fails every time. And Cornelia, who doesn't even want to be pregnant, is.

Poor Cornelia though, I can't imagine what she must be going through right now. The baby has potential three fathers,… _three_! And I can't believe she doesn't want to tell Caleb and Rick. If one of them is the father, don't they have the right to raise it?

Sometimes that girl is too stubborn for her own good. I mean, she thinks she always makes the right decisions (mostly she does), but I certainly disagree with her on this one. Anyway, I have argued with her just a few minutes ago and I don't want to relive that whole debate in my own head. It's _her_ life, _not mine_.

Why do I always dwell on other people's problems?

It's not like I have enough problems as it is on my own.

Speaking of which, I still don't feel relieved with Matt's answer. Sure, he had been busy with his band to grow popularity, but that doesn't mean that he _can't_ have sex anymore. Not that I'm a sex craving woman, it's just… well, I do like to have sex once in a while. It's only healthy in a relationship that the two persons express their love for each other – by having sex.

By all this thinking, I kind of don't have my feet on the ground anymore and I don't see the person walking in front of me. Hence, we bump into each other and I fall flat on my behind on the pavement.

I grunt, rubbing my bottom to ease the pain. "Couldn't you watch where you were going?"

"Sorry," he mutters politely. The manly voice comes slightly familiar, but I shrug the notice away.

Exasperatedly, I sigh. "It's not your fault. _I_ should have been more careful," I pinpoint the matter. "If I wasn't pondering on things, I would have looked and wouldn't have bumped into you."

I hear him laugh a bit while I dust myself off.

"That's alright, _Will_. Accidents happen time from time," he soothes suddenly and extends his hand out to me so that he can help me get up again.

My eyes widen at the sound of my name. "Hey, how do you know my name?" I inquire inquisitively while I gladly accept his help to get back up on my feet.

I finally avert my gaze so that I can look him in the eye. When I immediately recognize the former stranger, I gasp.

It has been a long time since I've seen _this_ rugged, yet handsome face.

But it couldn't be _him_.

"_Caleb_!"

"Hey, Will." He gives me his dashing smile. No wonder Cornelia fell hard for him.

"What are you doing here, on Earth?" I squeal, although not on purpose.

Nervously, Caleb scratches the back of his head. "I wanted to ask if I could crash with one of you guys, because Elyon and I are finished for good. Funny, 'cause it never actually began between the two of us," he trails off in thought, but shakes his head to remain focused. "And I wanted to see Cornelia again." A faint blush appears on his cheeks, but it's barely visible to the naked eye.

"Oh," I merely mouth.

Caleb frowns. "Is there something wrong?" he asks concerned.

Mentally, I smack my head. I shouldn't be appearing suspicious right now and especially around the topic of 'Cornelia'.

"You can sleep in my guest room, if you want," I offer sympathetically.

His face brightens up immediately. "Thanks, Will. You're the best." He smiles thankfully. "So, how is Cornelia doing?" he suddenly queries, putting me in an awkward position again.

Heavily, I sigh. "Maybe you should visit her and ask her yourself," I reply simply.

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**A/N:** Feedback is always appreciated ;)

_9/12/2006  
_

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	7. Chapter 7: Irma

**More than a Game**

* * *

Life is more than a game you play. Because, after all, how can you win a game that has no rules? Drama/Romance

* * *

**A/N: **Voila, despite the huge long wait (sorry for that, though, had trouble of writer's block) I present you _Chapter Seven_. 

I also have to say that my writing style is a bit different from now on (I hope for the best, though), I want to use more descriptions on their actions and thoughts (development in my writing, you can say). I'll change the previous ones soon, and I will mention it on my profile when I did so or in the Author's Note of the next chapter. So have fun reading and leave me some feedback!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

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**Chapter 7: Irma**

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Who would have known I would miss the taste of alcohol this much? 

I mean—I'm still no alcoholic—but I need a drop, I need a quick sip, I just need the damn drink!

Unfortunately, I can't.

Because I promised my friends I wouldn't drink anymore of the substance and that I recurrently visit those AA-meetings, of which the doctor previously gave me pamphlets of when I was in the hospital due to my (non-existent) love life and making me fall deeply and badly in despair, and causing me to drink way too much. And most importantly, almost getting myself killed by my reckless behaviour. Now, I regret everything.

And I truly mean _everything_.

I can't believe how foolish I was in the first place to down so much alcohol that awful day. Come on, I was really overreacting—believe me, I know how much pain is caused if your friends are on cloud nine on the love area and you're the only one of the group stuck behind on Earth, _alone_—but that isn't the end of the world, I realise now. The absence of alcohol can sure give you insight on your mistakes in life.

The mistake I made, which I regret most of all, is the fact that I swore to my, at that time, very angry and pissed-of friends that I would go to those session of alcoholics—which I'm still not!—regularly and never _dare_ to skip one of them. The four of them ganged up on me, when we arranged a trip to the movies together in order of seeing each other again and we agreed on meeting at Corny's and momentarily my apartment so that we could go there in unison, but before we left to head outside, they blocked my way to the door and Will pushed me on the couch quickly before I found any tiny opportunity to escape their wrath—man, that girl developed serious physical strength, or it could be due the fact that I was so taken aback at their sudden teaming up against me—and they confronted me with the 'almost-my-death-event'.

Cornelia was surprisingly the first to threaten me about it. Especially because she was having relaxation on Hawaii, whilst I was spending a few days, although unconsciously, in a hospital bed. I did feel it in my spine that I had been there quite a long time, because my back had been sore a couple of days after due to the extremely hard and rough mattress they own—I'm trailing off topic now, so I shall go back to Cornelia. Well, she simply barked at me (what else is new, actually) and she accused me of being too stupid for my own good. She ranted on for fifteen minutes and her face reddened by the anger and disappointment, while the others didn't bother to shut her tramp—I tried, but Hay Hay covered my mouth with her hand after a while, making it impossible to remand something to the blonde—and she kept ranting about how idiotic and improvident my action was. I hate to admit it, but I could understand her resentment at that time, I would be the same as her if I was in her position (we're more alike, then everyone thinks) and I think she could see the hurt and sorry in my eyes, which made her stop abruptly in mid-sentence and handing over the lecture in Will's hands, who was at the time (frankly, always) very neutral and calm.

She, unlike Corny, was more motherly and concerned (although, I believe Corny was concerned too, but she just didn't show it), and she wanted me to talk about it, peacefully and letting the heavy burden get of my chest. But I defiantly declined her offer, I didn't want to talk about it then and I still don't want to talk about it now. Besides, there's not much I have to say, it's just me being over-emotional at the moment and loosing all control over myself, that's all. She, as the others, was saddened by my refusal and they misinterpreted into the fact that I don't trust them enough to talk about my problems—which is so _not_ true.

Then Taranee stepped up and gave me a pamphlet, she had obtained herself after her own appointment with the doctor—probably a annual check-up, because for as I know, there's physically nothing the matter with the smartest one of our gang—and she asked for information about 'helping the alcoholic' and then received the same pamphlet as me from the doctor. She pleaded me to go to one of those sessions repeatedly with her big, devastating chocolate eyes and Hay Hay even topped it with her tear-y, wide cinnamon orbs and a pout-y lower lip. Now, in all honesty, no-one is able to resist the sight of adorable puppy-face Hay Lin, and by no-one I mean _no-one_.

Thus, I caved in and swore that I would do as asked (or more like, _begged_), and attend those meetings. Then, they even overdid themselves by making promise that I won't touch alcohol again, before I'm completely healed and recovered. They were all pleased by my promise, all except for Hay Hay, who made me do the pinkie swear. And we all know how holy and sacred and meaningfully the pinkie swear is to Hay Lin, so it's truly _official_ now.

So _that_'s how I ended up here, courtesy of the retired Guardians of the Veil, attending one of those AA-meetings in the big city near Heatherfield, sitting on a chair in a circle of gloom people, talking about _our_ alcoholic addiction, of which I lack.

One of the men, named Bill, is sharing his story with the rest of us and the guide right about now. He's this very petit man, with a considerable few hairs and the top of his head, whereas he grows bushes on each side and the lower back. A small, with black brims glasses are on his tiny button-nose, he's wearing a lead-white shirt and a green, with rhombus embroidered sweater. He's in fact the most nervous and anxious one of us, and he tends to show it too. Always quivering (I don't remember having him seen still), stuttering with a quiet, almost inaudible voice and doesn't dare to look directly at one of us. Sometimes he does, but it's very rare.

"And—and she—I—she's never home anymore, always out with her girl-friends," he pauses, straightening his sleeves for the umpteenth time. "She's going to leave me… isn't she?" He begins to pant heavily, his chest heaving up and down, and his eyes are meeting the shrink's ones, like he's trying to challenge her to answer him. Which she greedily, yet carefully accepts.

"Bill, you must understand that your wife needs some time to herself too, but I believe you should—,"

"I should what!" he yells suddenly, raising up to his feet from his chair. "That bitch is cheating on me! She's a fucking whore! I don't need her! I—I need a drink… Give me a goddamn drink!"

His face is completely scarlet, a vein on his neck is popping, ready to burst any time now and he grabs his chair furiously. When he's about to fling it across the room, one of the other guys grips the legs of the chair just in time and yanks it out of Bill's hands. Three other men overpower him and force him to sit down, which he struggles against, kicking, worming and screaming. Our moderator tells him to calm down, and slowly breath in through his mouth and out though his nose. He relaxes within a few minutes, back to his regular self, the timid and quiet Bill.

Everyone—including me—gapes at the scenery, quite shocked at the fury of Bill. It's something none of us expected him to do, in fact I always thought he was one of those guys who never needn't anger management, which would be clearly necessary for him.

The moderator scrapes her throat, demanding our attention to be directed at her. She doesn't receive what she wants, because most of us still stare wide-eyed at the now calmed Bill, who's fumbling with his thumbs shyly. It's amazingly ominous how someone can surprise everyone else like that, how someone can appear like someone they're not, or how a personality can be switched so easily and rapidly just because something terrible happened in one's life. Or how events and situations can change someone into someone totally new, how everything that happens can affect our lives so deeply and strongly.

For example, Martin Tubbs.

He used to such a geek-y, strange fellow, that frankly stalked me around most of the time. He had this insanely huge crush on me and followed me around everywhere and called me by those sappy nicknames, such as Buttercups. Despite all that, he was one of my dearest friends and I did enjoy his company, but I never returned his feelings—I liked him, but not in the same way that he liked me.

But _now_, he has done a complete make-over, he has changed in every way possible. He's still this very sweet and caring guy, but he's not so weird anymore. Although, he's still into those computer-technology-science stuff, but he has matured about it. He has always been a wiz at that sort of stuff and surprise, surprise, it's what he does for living; he is the most sought programmers working with Microsoft. However, not just his personality, but his appearance has been converted. He's still on the scrawny side, but he has built up some muscles too (I saw his arms in that navy-blue polo of his, which he wore on our coffee date) and he has become much more masculine, not burly, but more of a _normal_ guy.

I have to admit that I—

"Irma!" my guide calls out to me, frowning at my distance and interrupting my trail of thoughts of Martin.

I jump, blinking out of my reverie.

"Huh? Wha?"

Annoyed, she rolls her eyes at me. "Why won't you share your story with us?" she asks, sweetly and politely.

It's like she's feigning genuine concern and that she actually gives a damn, but I don't fall for her little trap. Oh no, I see right through her put up façade. According to my books, she just pretends she's listening intently to us and that she writes everything crucial you tell down on her notebook she holding on her lap. I think she's in fact doodling and drawing pictures of us with stinky, wavy lines around our bodies, just to show her resent to 'aid' us.

Or perhaps, she's Nerissa, coming back to take over the Heart (well, Will doesn't have it anymore, but she doesn't know that) and try to hypnotize me when I least suspect it. Maybe she's already doing it as we speak!

Okay, now I'm just being silly, but I do believe she gives a rat's ass about any of us.

I slouch down in my chair nonchalantly. "Nah, I'm good to go."

Irately by my answer, she squints her eyes at me first and purses her lips together in a thin, angry line, but recovers from it quickly in order that no-one spots her rising annoyance with me. I have to confess, while I'm in here I'm a smidge of a pain in the butt—Cornelia would argue with that statement and say I'm a pain in the butt all the time, but she isn't here right now, so I'm relieved with the constant bickering between the two of us—thereby I can relate to her being difficult with me during these sessions as well.

"Miss Lair, I would love to hear what caused your drinking. We are all here to listen to you and to help you, but you have to give us a chance to do so," she speaks with a sugary voice, although the sarcasm and resentment towards me is seeping through.

I exhale loud and clear. "Well, if you must know that badly, I will tell you," I reply, smiling wryly. "I just went to a bar and I say this man challenging everyone in a contest to down the most beers and being curious and dangerous as I am, I joined in and accepted his challenge," I pause to build up the suspense within the circle. "That's why I became an alcoholic and visit these meetings with you guys."

I lean back in my chair comfortably and victoriously at my little speech. Amused by everyone's look on their faces, I wiggle my eyebrows giddily and smirk self-satisfied.

"Pretty bitchin', huh?" I vented sarcastically, mostly directed at the counsellor.

She sighs sharply. "Thank you, Irma, for that wonderful and unexceptionally fictive story. You may talk the next time if you decide to be serious for a change and want to tell us what _truly_ happened."

I roll my eyes at her very obviously, but she deliberately ignores it and channels her attention to everyone else. "So, who's wants to say something to the rest of the group?" She moves her eyes around the circle and rest her eyes on a girl sitting two chairs away from me. "Kristen, would you love to do the honours?"

The girl looks up timidly and straightens her back promptly as she notices everyone staring at her. She's roughly around my age, a bit taller than me—even taller than Orube, who's the tallest of my friends and me—and has those big, round glimmering grey eyes with beautiful, curly, dark eyelashes, complementing her silver-grey orbs. She's very pale with contrasting mahogany wavy hair, reaching her mid-back. I must admit she's a beauty, like a precious and delicate wall-flower.

She smiles meekly, a little forced upon. "Sure," she says silently, her voice as sweet as pure honey. "Well, my name is Kristen and I'm an alcoholic, the reason why I am joining you guys. I haven't touched any kind of liquor in two years. Sometimes I have to control myself when I'm at a party or at dinner with friends, or my boyfriend's family. Euhm—…"

The counsellor intervenes abruptly. "Would you mind telling us a bit more about your boyfriend? Is he helping you with your problem?"

"Yes, he's very supportive and he was very pleased with the fact that I'm attending such AA-meetings to guide me though all this. We've been together as an item for two years, but he was a friend of mine in college and I love him to death. I can't imagine my life without him. He's really amazing, especially because he was the one who made me realize that I was addicted and helped me though the most difficult parts in the beginning. It's strange but I met him again in the hospital when I lay there because I had drink too much."

This actually reminds me a lot of Martin. How I reacquainted with him in the hospital too, because I myself had drunk too much, just like her and how he was one of my best male friends before too. It's very odd how things can turn out the way they do and how small this otherwise big world is.

"Well, I'm glad you're doing okay, Kristen." Our counsellor initiates an applaud for her, which soon everyone joins in. When the clapping decreases, she glances at her golden watch and notices that the session has ended. "Thank you for coming, and hope to see you all next week."

Thanking the heavens that the session has finished for the week, I jump up from my chair eagerly to fold the black piece of furniture and to place it against the wall again, just like everyone else does. Practically sprinting to the exit, I grab my coat from the hangers roughly and hastily that I accidentally knock my elbow on someone's nose.

Immediately, I stop my frantic haste and whirl my head around embarrassed to see which one of the group I had hit hardly. I'm hoping and crossing my fingers it isn't the moderator, because she already dislikes me enough as it is. A small, forced smile graces my features and my cheeks turn pink as I observe that it was Kristen (thank God, it wasn't the counsellor, but it's already evil enough of me to elbow Kristen) I had whacked, and a small line of blood is running out her nostrils.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so, so sorry," I apologize, handing her a handkerchief quickly and guiltily. I have to do something to help, especially since it was me who caused her the nosebleed.

She smiles meekly and takes the handkerchief to press below her nose to staunch the bleeding. "Don't be," she prompts. "It can happen to anyone, no big deal."

"No, it's most certainly my fault. I should have been more careful."

"It's okay."

I shake my head softly. "_No_, it's not okay! If I hadn't been so keen on getting out of here, I wouldn't have been so rushed and knocked you on the nose. So it is—,"

"Stop, Irma," she interjects, stopping my non-stop rattling. "I know perfectly well you didn't on purpose. It doesn't even hurt. And like I said before, it can happen to anyone."

"Well, I'm still sorry and I still feel guilty," I mumble.

She gives me back my handkerchief, which has spots on her blood on it. But after washing it, it will be clean again and I don't mind since it helped her for now. I fold it neatly and shove it in the pocket of navy jeans. Then I put on my coat gently and carefully this time, that way I won't cause damage to another one of my victims. Just as I am about to go the exit, Kristen calls out to me.

"Maybe you can make it up to me by buying me a cup of coffee?" she suggest suddenly and winks coyly at me.

"I'd love to," I say and her face brightens up. "But I can't," I add and her cheery smile droops.

"Another time then," she offers weakly, clearly disappointed by my answer.

"Again, I'm sorry, but my crazy friend arranged a blind date for me tonight. Next week I'm available though."

"Okay, next week, after the session," she beams. "Have fun on your date!"

"I'll try," I mutter, which makes her laugh at my amusing misfortunate. Then we say our goodbyes and I leave to head for the apartment so that I can freshen up for my blind date. Which I'm actually not looking forward to, especially since Hay Hay arranged the date and the person who I'm going on this date. No offence to my best friend, but we do have a total different taste when it comes to guys—not only on the area of guys, a lot of other stuff too. However, I guess _one_ little date won't hurt me, I do feel like going out with someone from the opposite sex again. And maybe, just maybe, this guy can be my Prince Charming—most likely not, but a girl can dream.

Once I arrive at Corny's (and now mine too) apartment, I use the key Cornelia had copied for me before her shooting session on Hawaii and push the door open to step inside. Much to my surprise, I hear voices coming from the living room. I know one of them belongs to my dear, blonde friend, but I can't decipher which one the other is. Besides, all of our friends are busy right now; Will is at the movie theatre with Matt together with Nigel and Taranee (a double date, which occurs often between those two couples), and Hay Lin and Eric are at his parents again.

Oh yes, Hay Hay's parents-in-law. A real treat for the Chinese girl… especially after last time.

She told me what happened when she visited them the last time, when I was the only remaining person with her at the Silver Dragon when we were all there, because Cornelia needed to tell them about her unborn child and the unfortunate tale of her potential three fathers. How is she going to get out of that mess, is beyond me.

I'm trailing of topic here, back to Hay Lin now.

Well, Hay Hay and Eric are happily married for a few years, and they are ready to have a baby, so they are busy with… making one. Apparently, she was ovulating when she and Eric were at his parents house spending the night, while dear Carlton and Victoria were out. Therefore, impulsively they started to make out on the couch, but unbeknownst to them, Eric's parents returned home earlier than expected and walking in on them, ready to have sex. Victoria already hated Hay Lin's guts with every fibre of her being, for snatching her son away right in front of her, but now, after that last event, it became even worse than before.

She called Hay Lin a slut, which took everyone aback for hearing that word escaping her lips, and she dashed off to her bedroom. Whilst Carlton, who's much more fond of Hay Lin than he acts like, simply because he's a tad scared of his wife (which I can't blame him, that woman is frightening), just shook his head shamefully at the two lovebirds and chased after his shocked wife. Hay Lin decided it was for the best that she and Eric wouldn't sleep together that night.

The next day, Victoria was still so angry that she only made breakfast for Carlton and her endearing son, and merely avoided Hay Lin when the poor girl asked for her plate. The wicked witch told her that she was allowed to eat her delicious omelette if she would have been part of the family, which stung Hay Lin badly. Eric, not liking his mother's behaviour towards Hay Lin at all, raised his voice and thundered back that if she didn't consider Hay Lin as part of the family that he didn't consider her as his mother.

Which even shocked her more.

Then Eric grabbed his suitcases and indicated Hay Hay to do the same and they left promptly without uttering a goodbye to his parents. He did call his father later, though, to apologize for forgetting to say goodbye to _him_, since he didn't do anything wrong. Carlton, a bit displeased with the entire situation and fight, tried to convince Eric to apologize to Victoria too, but Eric declined the offer immediately. Clever Carlton, however, did persuade him to come back a some days later, to try to settle this once and for all. I hope poor Hay Hay is doing okay right now, she is like thrown into the lions every time they pay a visit to Eric's parents.

I trudge into the living room, observing Cornelia and Peter being curled up in the couch, watching the telly. Corny told me that Peter and her were best friends again, like before the time became the most romantic item, but I hadn't a clue they are _this_ close again. He's sitting in the furthest (from me) corner, resting against the armrest with his back and spreading his legs on the couch. While our model is lying cosy between his legs, her head nuzzled against his chest and her legs entwined with his.

"Wow, aren't you two making yourselves comfortable, huh?" I ask rhetorically, startling the two who are looking up to me, a bit annoyed that I ruined their moment.

Cornelia groaned. "Urgh, Irma! Can't you go bother someone else?"

I smirk maliciously and shake my head. "But, Corny, you are always my favourite victim. No way, I'm going to replace you with someone who isn't so easy to laugh with." Quickly, I dodge the cushion she flings at me. I hold up my hands in defence and surrender. "Jeez, if you wanted me to leave so badly, you could have asked me _nicely_, Queen Hale. Besides, I'm only here to prepare myself for my blind date and then I'm gone. Happy?"

"Hold your horses!" she shouted softly, waving her hands to prevent any rambling from me. "That date is tonight?" she asks with a squeaky voice.

I cock an eyebrow weirdly at her. "Yeah, so?"

"Nothing. It's just," she mumbles, frowning. "I didn't think you would go through with this."

"And why is that?" I snap, feeling highly offended by her statement.

"God, don't be so touchy! I just meant that I didn't expect to go on this blind date since I thought you clearly like Ma—," she remands, but abruptly finishing her sentence right on that moment, while clapping a hand in front of her mouth.

My eyes widen as realization dawns me. "What?! What did you say?!"

"Nothi—,"

"You think I like Ma—Martin?!" I practically shriek.

She shrugs and replies lamely. "Yeah, I do. But it's only because you sounded so… _alive_ and genuinely happy when you told me about your friendly coffee date. That's all."

I cross my arms defiantly. "Well, then you are obviously mistaken. Because I DON'T like Martin Tubbs in the way you think I do! Never did and never will. He's only a friend!"

With that pointed out, I dash towards my bedroom to change my clothes and make myself pretty for the date. Now, I'm more than eager to go out with the guy Hay Lin choose for me, because I want to prove Cornelia that I don't 'like' Martin that way. I slam the door furiously and prepare myself for the evening.

I put on my lucky, black dress, that has a bare back and flows around my legs, until it drops on the ground. It has a strap around my neck, but it's sleeveless. I curl the ends of my hair with some curling irons that it whips around, framing my face. Just a pearl bracelet and a compatible, silver watch as trinkets (but I have to find my matching pearl earring) and a similar shad of black purse, than hangs on my shoulders. Add some final touches of make-up and voila I'm good to go.

After ten minutes, the doorbell rings, indicating that my mystery man is there to pick me up. I writhe nervously, but after I blow out a long, loud sigh to regain my composure, I yell at Cornelia and Peter to open the door for me. I only have to put on some mascara and my pearl earrings. When I'm done doing so, I take one last glance at the mirror to check for anything I might have forgotten, but I don't see any flaw. Thus, I head out for the front door, to greet my date and leave with him.

At least, I sincerely hope it's a _him_. What if it's a girl who had transformed herself into a fellow, one of those transsexuals or transvestites? Or what if it's just a girl? Well, I sincerely hope Hay Hay didn't think I was _that _desperate for finding a date. Which I'm most certainly _not_!

Okay, I'm so overreacting right now, it's only the nerves which are churning in the pit of my stomach, that's all. Hay Hay won't do that to me, not to anyone for that matter, so no worries there.

I turn around the corner and my mouth practically falls open in utter surprise, when I catch a glimpse of my blind date. For an unknown reason, I freeze in my stance and my feet are suddenly glued to the floor. Because of him, Andrew Hornby (my first and true crush), I can't move a single muscle.

Apparently, Cornelia is aware of that tiny fact and rushes to my side. She grips both of my arms and walks (or more like, _drags_) me closer to Andrew and Peter, who are standing in front of the door. When I'm face to face with him, she and Peter leave us alone and wish us lots of fun.

He smiles at me, that kind of dashing smile that can melt any woman. Especially a woman like me. "Hello, Irma. It's has been a long time ago since I saw you. You turned out much more beautiful than before. So, how have you been?"

An extremely warm feeling creeps on my cheeks, telling me that I'm blushing crimson right now. "I—Uh—I've—Okay. I have been okay," I stutter out, embarrassedly and nervously. "And you?"

"Okay too," he laughs, which sounds like music to my ears. "So, you ready to go?" he asks politely.

I nod twice, heading out the door, not bothering to say goodbye to Cornelia and Peter, because my eyes and mind can't seem to be tear away from him or think about anything else but him. I snort inwardly. _Yeah right Corny, like I love Martin_, I think venomously to myself.

Andrew escorts me to the prestigious, fancy restaurant to have dinner together—if Hay Hay knows he took me to another restaurant than hers, she will probably regret us matching up. When we get there, we have to wait for our reserved table, since this place attracts lots of people, people I don't exactly feel comfortable with.

I already felt unsettling when Hay Hay begged me to go to one of Eric's parents' dinner party, since they were all so high-class, but contemplating about it, they don't hold a candle to these folks on the fanciness.

But this restaurants also screams it out, I believe this is a kind of place that only wants high-class people to enter. The walls are painted with cream white and beautifully traced with curly lines of dark lilac, decorated with silver lamps. There are five antique, bronze chandeliers, which are placed on a row throughout the ceiling and illuminates dimly the entire customers section. All the tables in the centre are round surrounded with antique, dark brown wooden chairs with lavender-coloured cushions and the tables at the sides are round too, with chairs and a bench (sculptured likewise as the chairs, same cushions and shade of brown wood) situated against the walls, but the ones in the corners are partly round, they are adjusted to the walls and with a bench as well.

Each table has the same decorations as the other; in the middle there is a lit candle and a vase with yellow orchids, to create a romantic and pleasant sphere at each table. The tables are also covered by the same tablecloth; a pure white, embroidered with pretty pictures of special flower-forms in each corners and a gold trim.

It's so astounding, making me gape at the sight.

They probably have a book, about 'how to Feng Shui your restaurant', because it makes me more relaxed just being in here and just looking at it, than I was when I glanced around to look at the people.

While waiting for our own table, Andrew and I sit at a very small, round and high table, with is only meant to carry drinks. We receive the drinks we ordered, him a scotch and me a iced-water with lemon—I can't have any kind of alcoholic drink, I'm in 'rehab'. He smiles at me before taking a sip and I feel the previous blush flushing my cheeks once more. As an attempt to hide it, I quickly bow my head and slurp on the straw of my drink.

Everyone in the waiting room, stares at us in disgustful awe at my rude and nonchalant behaviour. I release the straw from my lips promptly, embarrassed and my blush increasing, and smile meekly at Andrew.

"I'm so sorry. I'm not accustomed to these sort of places," I try to justify myself, noticing everyone is averting their stare away from us.

"It's all right," he reassures, suddenly lacing his fingers through mine and squeezing my hand tightly. "I found it adorable."

I cough, still not feeling comfortable around him. "Thank you."

"What do you do for a liv—," he was about to initiate a real conversation, when one of the sharply dressed waiters intervenes.

"Sir Hornby, your table is ready for you and the charming lady."

"Thank you," Andrew replies politely.

The old geezer of a waiter, who looks more like a penguin in that uniform of his to me, escorts us to our table. It is a table for two persons (which is logical since it is only me and Andrew), half-way the centre and a corner, and seemingly close to the restrooms. Andrew seats himself on one of the antique chairs, whilst the waiter shoves mine back as a true gentleman and places it underneath me when I sit down. He hands us a menu and says that we need to whistle for him if we have chosen our meals.

The menus are very beautiful too and so in character with the entire furnished restaurant. The cover is a sierra brown velvet and it has ochre-coloured little strings that bundles the menu together. The papers inside are silver-greyish and see through, and it the letters are gracious handwritten with an ebony black colour.

Slowly, my ocean-blue orbs scan the different dishes and I'm practically drooling over all these wonderful and delicious choices I can make. It all sounds so tasty and I can't seem to make up my mind.

"What are you having?" I inform that perhaps what Andrew chooses, is good enough for me too and saves me the trouble on deciding myself.

"Euhm—," he mumbles, clapping with his tongue as he gives a final, quick glance over his menu. "I'll think I go with the fish teriyaki, preferably the mackerel. And you?" He closes his menu and lays it down on the table. He looks at me with those beautiful and shimmering eyes of his, which make me sigh silently and dreamily.

"Mhhmmm," I hum, a goofy smile spreading on my lips and cupping my chin with me hand, while resting my elbow on the table.

He frowns at me inquisitively, which makes me wake up from my daydream and pulls me back on Earth. Startled, I slid the menu over his and tuck a strand of light-brown hair behind my ear nervously and foolishly.

"I'll have the same," I hurtle out, feeling quite embarrassed and stupid, and repeat myself in case I didn't spoke before in reality. "I'll have the same as you, thank you."

He chuckles. "I'll order it for _two_ then." He winks at me playfully.

Later on, our waiter, Jacques, returns to us with both of our meals. The nice, enjoyable whiff wafts my nostrils with great pleasure and I think at that point, a little bit of drool is showing visibly in the corner of my mouth. But do I care? No, I don't. I only care is having that deliciously and good-smelling meal being stuffed down my throat with my bear hands and only swallowing, so that it can get as fast as possible into my stomach. Of course, I won't eat like that, since I'm still on a date here and especially in this fancy, probably five-star restaurant. Thus I eat like every _normal_ person does, with my knife and fork, to cut it in fine, delicate pieces and for goodness' sake.. chewing.

I inhale the divine odour slowly and smile contently at my plate. Andrew smiles wryly at me, finding my behaviour once again adorable, and begins to eat his own feast.

"So, what do you do for a living?" he queries randomly, not being able to stand the unbearable silence that some people create while their eating.

I wipe my mouth clean, which wasn't dirty anyways but it is fun to do so, with the astonishing, expensive serviettes, which are similar to the embroidered tablecloths. It's like a miniature version of it.

"I'm a secretary of this dull company in the city. You've probably heard of it, it's called the Baker corporation."

"Of course, I've heard of it. I bet the entire population of America has heard of it, Irma."

I sigh. "Yes, there are plenty of companies established throughout the country, which means a fat pay check for me, but—," I stop, pondering about something.

"But what?" he asks, the concern leaking in his voice. He takes my hand and strokes it tenderly with his thumb.

The feeling of his warm, embracing touch reminds me of something. Strangely, it reminds me of Martin that one day before we separated our paths just before college. It was our last day together, because he was going to ship off to college the day after. I remember it all so vividly, we were sitting on the grass in the park, then suddenly he picked one of the daisies and tucked it behind my ear. He took my hand in the same manner Andrew is doing right now, and he gazed into my eyes piercingly, as though he was looking at my soul.

He told me that he was going to miss me badly and I still don't know why but he told me he was sorry for everything in high school. Of course, I asked him why but he only shrugged the matter away so easily and said that one day I will understand. Which I didn't then and which I still don't now. Then he kissed my forehead so tenderly, that I can feel the soft touch lingering on it right now, as I did then. And then he got up and left to go packing for his future. While I stayed for a couple more hours in the park, wondering why he was sorry.

Tears are suddenly pricking in my eyes. But I quickly and roughly wipe them away with my free hand.

"Irma, what's wrong? Did I say something that hurt you?" he inquires while leaning forward and I feel his hot breath tingling at my skin.

Just like when I had my coffee date with Martin a few days ago. We sat next to each other, very close, at a booth in the coffee shop. He had swung his arm around my shoulders, which sent shivers down my spine at the time, but I shrugged the notice away. Talking about memories past and what is going on in our lives now, while drinking the coffee, I had a wonderful and splendid time.

I revelled in every second spent with him, and it haunted me when I went to bed later that night, what that all was all about. Martin had always been one of my best friends and it was so obvious that he was in love with me during secondary school, but I never returned those feelings. I liked him, yes, but liked liked him, no.

I snap out of my trail of thoughts, focusing on Andrew and the present again.

"No, it isn't something you said. It's just—," I hesitate, thinking of the right words to say. "I'm going through a difficult time right now, that's all."

"Okay, I'm glad I'm not the root of it. But I got to say, you're an extraordinary gal, Irma. And I like that about you." He smiles at me sweetly, then out of nowhere, he leans forward and plants his lips on mine.

I close my eyes, inviting his tongue in, and the pleasant feeling with it. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me, while he snakes one arm around my waist, after scooting himself closer to me with his chair. I can't honestly say how long I wanted this particular moment to arrive, Andrew finally liking me back.

But suddenly, I visualize Martin kissing me like this, instead of Andrew—I can't explain the matter though, I just do. And I deepen the kiss more.

Then, realizing I was picturing Martin kissing me, my eyes fly open to spot Andrew on my lips, and gasp in his mouth. Impulsively, I push him back with all my might, leaving him bewildered and shocked at my sudden action.

"Irma, what is go—,"

I interrupt him, by jumping on my feet and swinging my purse over my shoulder. He eyes me at a confused look on his face.

"I—I can't do this, Andrew. I just can't," I mutter, all stuttering and confused with myself.

When I'm about to leave, he grabs my wrist as an attempt to stop me. "Wait!" he calls out to me, attracting everyone's attention who are sitting at the tables around us. "What's going on? I don't understand."

I close my eyes, yanking my wrist out of his grip softly, since I don't want to hurt him. Shakily, I heave a loud sigh. "I don't understand either. But I do understand that I have to go," I explain as much as I can, and I turn around to face him once more and peck him on the cheek before walking away from him.

As I stroll to my apartment as fast as my legs can bear, I cry as realization dawns me ever so slowly and painfully.

I don't like Andrew in they way I thought, I never did. It was only the damn hormones speaking and making me so nervous around him.

He was just a guy as distraction of my true feelings about someone else. He was the kind of guy, a girl has her first little high school crush on, just someone who was the most popular boy in school. But never the one, to fall truly in love with, to settle down with, to have a family with and spend the rest of your life with.

No, Andrew isn't _that_ guy for me.

But he did make me realize who is.

Oh my gosh, Cornelia was right. And I hate it if she's right.

I do like Martin in the way she figures.

I should have known all along, he is the right man for me. I should have known by the way my heart stopped beating when I saw him after all those years at the hospital. I should have known by the way his touch made shivers run down my spine. I should have known that when I saw his parted lips, I suppressed the urge to kiss him. I should have known by simply how relaxed and comfortable and happy he makes me feel when I'm around him.

Just his mere presence does the trick.

Urgh, now I know how Will felt when she realised this with Matt, Taranee likewise with Nigel, Hay Hay with Eric, and Cornelia with both Caleb and Peter.

It's a heart-wrenching thought and a somewhat nasty twist in my stomach, but at the same time it is so welcoming, a feeling that beckons me to a light, to be lifted into the sky and to lie down happily on cloud nine, where all my other friends are.

Perhaps, I already felt this way about him back in high school, but never wanted to admit and give in to those feelings.

But I can't keep running away from it.

I can't keep hiding from it.

I can't keep fooling and betraying myself like this.

And it's about time that I admit to myself that I'm in love with Martin Tubbs.

* * *

**A/N:** Didn't suspect that, did ya? lol

_11/2/2006_

* * *


	8. Chapter 8: Taranee

**More than a Game**

* * *

Life is more than a game you play. Because, after all, how can you win a game that has no rules? Drama/Romance 

**A/N:** I don't know the real age of Peter, so I made him three years older than Taranee.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Taranee**

* * *

I don't know if I can keep this up any longer. 

I really don't.

Every time—and that is _every_ time—I'm alone with Danny, which is a tad too much lately, it all ends up with him abusing me and violating me. Afterwards, he apologizes with tears in his eyes, and makes me swear on my parent's grave (even though they aren't six feet under yet) to not tell Nigel about any of this. 'Cause if I do, he'll make sure I'll regret my big mouth, if I have to quote him exactly.

Therefore, after every time, I have to conceal every bruise, every mark and black eye he prints in my face. Which lately isn't so easy anymore; my lip has gotten way to fat to cover up, I think my left eye on its own is a _double_ black eye, and every time I smear the make-up over my face, it stings and hurts badly, that I burst into tears, which floods away the make-up and I can redo the whole painful process.

I hate myself terribly for doing all this.

What did I do to deserve such treatment?

I never done anyone harm on purpose—at least, I don't think I did. I never did something wrong towards Danny, _never_. Perhaps it's because of his issues with my mother when we were still teenagers. My mother was a judge in junior court (as am I too now, since I followed her footsteps) and she convicted Danny into several years in jail, which he never forgave her for. When he was a free man again, the only thing that kept him going was his thirst for revenge after my mom. He did every possible thing to taunt her, to mock her, to annoy her and to fulfil his revenge.

Which he succeeded at.

The only thing, or more like _person_, that kept him the least sane, was his little brother, Nigel. They have a very special bond, they are more than just brothers, believe me. Despite his cruel and somewhat sadistic (towards me, that is) behaviour, Danny will do anything for Nigel, anything to make him happy. It's something I actually admire—which I don't like to admit, admiring something Danny does—especially since Peter and I are so close too. I believe there's nothing grander than love from family, siblings in particular.

Okay, I'm getting to sappy right now, which I shouldn't since I'm talking about Danny. Just hearing and thinking his name, makes a cold shiver run down my spine in disgust and hatred.

Well, Nigel tried to persuade Danny that my mother was not the root of his problems, that the root was himself for stealing that car—his crime, for which my mom had convicted him for. The only thing my mom did was her job and the right thing to do, in fact. But Danny didn't believe him and simply continued his rage, by completely painting very insulting and dirty words on the doors, window-shield and roof of her car.

Which was the last drop, according to my mother.

My mother is the kind of woman that doesn't back down from anything, the kind of woman that stands her ground, and defends her believes and principles. She wouldn't take anymore crap from Danny and called the police as result, which caused Danny to 'pay a visit' to prison once again. Just for a night, though, because he was merely sentenced to do community service some time later in court. He didn't go after my mom afterwards anymore, Nigel somehow reached through him and made him realise _he_ had to change his ways. Which he claims he did, when he showed up again in Heatherfield after so many years.

Nigel and I had just finished college, when Danny appeared on our doorstep so suddenly. Nigel was so happy to see him again, whilst I was a bit on my guard after everything he put my family through, and Nigel invited him for dinner to catch up on everything. Of course, no surprise there, he gladly accepted on Nigel's offer. During dinner—with great tension hanging in the air, because I still didn't trust him, but Nigel promised everything would turn out wonderful—Danny told everything he had done all those years, how every little aspect that occurred in his life made him realise more and more that he had been an awful jerk his entire life. He had been to a centre in order to stop his aggressive and insulting ways, which had paid of in the end, according to him. That was the reason why he didn't return home sooner.

At that time, I believed him, since he appeared so sincerely and peaceful, like he had truly redeemed himself. Now I wonder why I was so foolish enough to be so gullible. I guess the reason is that I was (and perhaps still am) so happy for Nigel that he was reunited with his brother after such a long time. I guess that is the only reason that I force myself to cover up the marks Danny leaves on me, just so that Nigel won't be crushed because his brother had betrayed him and lied to him.

I can't do that to Nigel.

I just can't.

And that's the main reason why I put up with Danny like that.

Sighing deeply, I pick up my foundation cream to cover up yet another bruise on my skin, and the moment the mocha-coloured texture touching my cheek, the pain tickles and stings badly. I clench my teeth as to bite the sore away and to distract myself from the prickling. Tears are forming in the corner in my eyes, threatening to fall, but I try to hold myself together—even when it's this tough to do so.

I did have trouble at court though, since one of my co-workers spotted the nasty blue mark on my cheek. We were having lunch together, with the rest too, and suddenly she pointed at my cheek and asked me what had happened to cause something so painful as it looked. Not wanting to talk about it, I brushed her finger away briskly and told her I just slammed the door of a cabinet in my face—which was stupid to say, since that has always been the first lie about being abused at home.

She confronted me with that teeny tiny observation (the lie, I mean) and she aroused the attention of everyone else in the room, and all eyes turned on me suspiciously and prodding on finding out what truly happened. I was so close on revealing everything, but I got interrupted just in time by a call on my cell phone.

Thank God, Peter decided to call me that very second, 'cause he wanted to ask me if I had time today so he could come over. Like aforementioned, Peter and I have a very close sibling relationship and we do anything in our power to maintain that relationship. So occasionally, we spend some time together at his place, or mine, or at a coffee-house, or a café, wherever we feel like going. Then we talk about the stuff that goes on in our lives, about anything just to have some kind of conversation. We can even talk on for hours about trivial stuff, for example what we had for breakfast just that very morning.

And to tell the truth, I'm feeling so happy and lucky at the same time that he wanted to come over. That way, I'll have company until Nigel gets home for our romantic date he promised me—not counting the double date with Matt and Will a few days ago. Speaking of which, _that_ wasn't so romantic at all—even though the romantic date he promised me, will be just the two of us, which is _truly_ romantic, at I hope so. I don't know exactly what's going on between Will and Matt, but there seemed to hang an eerie tension in the air around them. Which I found very peculiar, since she told us (when Cornelia told us she was pregnant) that they had solved everything, mainly there sexual relationship, that very same day. Before that she had complained to me (much too detailed and thorough for my taste) that she and Mat hadn't had sexual relations with one other for roughly two months, and then suddenly she was so perky that day, still glistening with sweat, because it was all lovey-dovey again.

But it _wasn't_ so lovey-dovey on our double date though, not even the slightest. They didn't talk to each other, solely to snap at the other, they didn't even share one glance! I dearly hope they solve every problem (even the tiniest) since they had always been the most romantic couple—save from Cornelia and Peter, or even Cornelia and Caleb, but I think it's obvious I loved it more to see her together with my brother—I have known, but I fear for it though, since my woman intuition tells me there's something big going on between them.

Anyways, I'm done doing my make-up and now I'm waiting, a little bit impatient, for Peter to arrive. I make some appetizers and already pour out two glasses of white wine. Neatly, I organize the coffee-table so that I can put everything ready, for when he shows up. I throw all my magazines—most of them with Cornelia on the cover—away on the lower glass table of my coffee-table and put the glasses on coasters since I don't want to have those yucky and dirty rings sticking on my table. (I tend to be a neat freak, as Irma likes to call it.)

As on cue (since I'm just done), the doorbell rings.

Hurriedly, I dash to the front door and wipe the imaginary dust of my clothes to look clean as crystal. As I swing the door open, my mouth falls open in big, yet great, surprise and stare wide-eyed at the extra person standing next to my brother.

"_Cornelia_!" I squeal in delight leaning against the open door, wanting to have some support for some unknown reason. "I didn't know you would come too,… _together with Peter_," I mutter out the last part more to myself than them, but they heard me anyway.

She smiles at me sweetly, before saying hello back and then I usher them inside, while Peter glares daggers at me since he caught my implication all too well. I smile at him meekly, so he will forgive me for implying that—even though I have every right to, and when it comes to the law, _I_'m the expert here—which he does by rolling his eyes exasperatedly and ruffling my hair like he used to when he were kids. (He still does that, even though we are way past our childhood years.)

I escort them to the living room, even when they already know where it is, but it's still polite as a hostess to do so. They sit down in the two-seated couch, while I plant myself down on the fauteuil. As I take a sip from my wine, I notice them staring at me weirdly with a raised eyebrow and I figure out abruptly the reason why. Embarrassed, I clap a hand in front of my mouth while I place the glass on its respective coaster again.

"Oh my gosh, sorry Cornelia, but _Peter_," I emphasize his name on purpose. "forgot to mention you were tagging along. I'll go get you a glass right away."

I jump up from my seat and head towards to the kitchen, but she grabs my wrist rapidly. Unbeknownst to her—since it's covered with my sleeve—it is just the wrist that Danny had twisted the night before. I purse my lips together to muffle a yelp of pain and wince visibly for controlling myself. Tears well up in my eyes and I'm just thanking the heavens that my back is facing them right now, so that they can't see the surfacing salty drops. As she lets go of my wrist, much too my pleasure, I whip my head around while biting my lower lip harshly to prevent myself from crying right then and there.

"No wine for me remember," she reminds me, by rubbing her growing belly. She even looks at Peter while doing so, who smiles at her genuinely and happily, and places his own hand on her abdomen.

"Right, what do you want instead?"

She hums, tapping a finger on her chin pensively. "Just some water is good," she makes up her mind, and channels her attention back to her unborn child and the might-be-father.

I nod once, trudging to the kitchen, but stands in front of the entrance to look at the two of them. At the sight of them, I collapse in a fit of dreamy sighs, just regarding them acting like that: Cornelia having a hand on her stomach and her other on Peter's shoulder, while my brother (the goof that he is sometimes, or more likely, most of the time) making baby sounds at her stomach.

It's weird though, but watching them act like true parents, so happy and perky, stabs me with a jab of jealousy in the heart. It's just that—I always had this dream of marrying Nigel when we were adults and having babies together. But now, with all the stuff that is going on in both of our lives, makes me wake up in realisation and I guess _that_ isn't meant for me. I'm afraid that he's never going to pop the big question, especially with all the work that has been piling up on his desk (and mine too, but less high than him) and especially since we have been together for so long. Why do my two of my best friends have that special thing each—Hay Lin married with Eric and Cornelia having a baby—and I don't?

Maybe I'm being overdramatic here (which is more an Irma or Cornelia thing to do) and too whiny. I just have to have some trust and faith in Nigel, I love him to death, married or not, having children or not.

Suddenly, a voice interrupts my train of thoughts.

"Is something the matter?"

Startled, I blink and look over my shoulder spotting Peter leaning casually against to the doorframe. I hate to admit it, but Peter got that special kind of charm. Sure he's good-looking, but he has this other kind of quality, a spark, that makes all women fawn over him. I can't quite pinpoint what it is exactly, but he just has it and it makes him irresistible. Just ask Cornelia, she sure couldn't resist it.

"No," I mumble, forcing a flashing smile on my face. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you're pouring out too much water in that glass, making it flood over," he teases, while I groan out loud when I realise what is happening, snatching the dishtowel of the rack roughly and starting to wipe the spilled water with drastic sweeps. A wide, cocky grin spreads on his face, while he still lingers at the door. It seems that he's rather enjoying my distraught behaviour instead of rushing over to the counter and help me clean up.

Irately, I furrow my brow at him, attempting to deliver the message—which he clearly doesn't pick up. "Oh no, help yourself, I don't need any help at all," I snarl, feigning as though I'm Miss Super Woman.

He rolls his eyes very obvious, implying that I am being overdramatic. Slowly, he walks over and on his way he grabs a few paper towels to lay them on the water so the towels can do their magic and absorb all the fluid. After the counter is all dry and neat again—just as I like it and just as it should be—he crumbles the wet towels and throws them in the garage can, while I neatly fold my dishtowel, all very silently and without any words spoken. Just when I am about to hang it on the rack again, he stops me by placing a soothing hand on my shoulder to turn me around to face him.

"Okay, sis, what's _really_ going on?" he questions, while looking me square in the eye sternly. He crosses his arms in front of his chest impatiently as he waits for me to open my mouth and answer all honestly.

I can't hold his gaze for very long, because I can't bear to keep it secret anymore, especially from him. He's my big brother, he has always been there for me when times were tough, no matter what. We always had a good relationship, a special bond that only the two of us shared and it feels as if I'm breaking it very consciously right now. It pains me to know what I'm hiding from him. But then again, I know that I mustn't tell him.

I can _never_ tell him.

Not to him.

Not to my friends.

Not to my family.

Not to anyone.

And it's killing me from within.

My lower lip begins to tremble as I try to regain my composure and not break down in tears in front of him. Noticing this, he pulls me in his arms, holding me tightly in one of his warm, soft embraces, just as he always does when I need any kind of consolation or support or comfort.

He kisses the top my head, rocking me back and forth tenderly. "Taranee, you know you can talk to _me_. You can trust me," he whispers in my ear soothingly and it does comfort me to hear those gentle words from him. "I'm your big brother and it is my responsibility to make sure you're doing okay."

Drooping my eye-lids ever so slowly, causes a single, tiny, sparkling teardrop to roll down my cheek. I want to tell him, I truly do, but I can't—I just can't tell him and pull him into this whirlpool of pain and misery. What if he confronts Danny with everything after I confessed it and that Danny beats him into a bloody pulp as well? No offence to Peter, but I don't think he can handle someone as frankly psycho and strong as Danny. Besides it's only _me_ who he attacks roughly and almost has—dare I say it?—molested, so it's _my_ business, _my_ problem that I have to fix on _my_ own. But I can't solve this though, I realise that I have to stick it through and wait (patiently) until he moves out of our house, back to his own apartment—far away from me—when the building has restored.

Reluctantly, I take a step backwards so that Peter is not really embracing me anymore, but he still has his hands resting on my upper-arms. "It's not your responsibility anymore, big brother. Your concern, perhaps, but _not_ your responsibility," I say bluntly and to the point, to which his face twists weirdly as though several emotions are going through his mind right now and he can't make out which emotion to show, though confusion is the prevailing one. I notice this all too well—and it hurts me that I hurt him—but I simply proceed. "I'm not a little girl anymore, you have to realise that fact. I can take care of my own problems and I don't need you help with it!" I subconsciously raise my voice with the last part of the sentence.

He clenches his jaw because he was gaping at me slightly when I said all that previous stuff, and he averts his stare to the tiled floor instead of looking into my eyes. Cold shivers run down my spine watching him act like this. He's not his usual self on this very moment—normally he's cheery, spunky and carefree… but the moment all those words escaped my lips, his eyes dulled and his shoulders hunched lifelessly over a bit.

"I get it," he mutters, pursing his lips in thought and anguish. But then a half-way smile tugs on his lips, while it's so obvious he's forcing it. "I know you can take care of yourself. You certainly have grown-up so much into this beautiful, mature and rational young woman. I'm proud of you," he says earnestly and a blush tings my cheeks at his appraising words. "But in my eyes you'll always be my baby-sister and even though I respect it that you don't want me to meddle in you business, I'll stay on the look-out no matter what."

"I know," I reply, but it comes out as a whisper. "I love you."

"I love you too, sis."

Absent-mindedly, I rub the back of my neck, as I turn around to face the counter again. Due to the seriousness and heaviness of our (small) talk, I forgot that their was still an over-full glass of water standing in my sink. The ice-cold water damped against he glass causing little droplets sticking against the azure-blue glass. Every now and then a little droplet comes loose and rolls down finding its way to the bottom of the sink. I use the towel to dry the outer side of the glass and hang the piece of fabric on the closest to me chair. Then I wrap my slender fingers around it to carry it back to Cornelia, who's still waiting for us in the living room.

"Do you think she still loves me?" he asks so suddenly, startling me immensely that I could have dropped the glass in an instant. He stands there, in the middle of my kitchen, his eyes boring into mine which are demanding me to answer him honestly and his arms limp against his sides.

What's with all the seriousness today? Especially from Peter!

I squint my eyes, shaking my head softly. "Wha? What are—What are you talking about?" I stammer out, completely flabbergasted by his confusing question.

"Cornelia—," he starts, stepping closer to me when he answered me. "Do you think she still loves me?"

"Well, yeah, I mean—just look at how close you two were in there with the belly rubbing and the way you—," I say hesitantly, still confused about his abrupt question, but he scowls and he interrupts me brusquely by waving a hand indicating me to shush. He shoves two chairs backwards, plops down on one of them and looks up at me expectantly, all the while my brow is still weirdly furrowed at him. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes to the back of his head and pats on the empty seat next to him, delivering his message clearly. I nod, showing him I (finally) regain my senses and scoot down right next to him, casting my gaze towards him. He slouches in his chair, his head hung down and his elbows on his knees, while his hands are supporting his forehead.

He heaves an exasperated sigh and realization hits me square in the face—he has been contemplating on this matter for a long time now! It's so obvious now, the way he fidgets in his chair, the way he rubs his weary face as if to wake him up and the way his eyes seem so vacant.

"I don't mean love in a friendship kind of way. I was asking you if—you might know if—perhaps—she _loves_ me," he stares piercingly at me.

I can't compete with that severe look and I glance at my hands that are lying in my lap instead. "I—I don't know. She hasn't talked about that to me or anything," I utter out nervously, afraid I might hurt him by saying the wrong thing. He may not show it often or not at all, but Peter is truly a sensitive human being.

"She hasn't talked about it to you at all?" he echoes my words, more saying it in a question rather than a statement.

"No."

He frowns deeply and claps a hand in front of his eyes, slowly sliding it down his entire sharply handsome face. "I don't understand you women. I mean, you claim to talk about anything, even the most trivial things, like which colour of nail polish you bought or how long your eyelashes are." He makes a weird face when he says. "But when it comes to something so important as 'love', you women keep everything to yourself. What's the deal with that?"

Irritated by his 'lovely' speech, I cross my legs and fold my arms over my stomach defiantly and briskly. "First of all, we '_women_' aren't ditzy airheads, who can only talk about make-up and boys! How dare you define us as such?!"

"I'm sorry—," he begins to apologize, but this time it's me who brusquely intervenes because I can't contain it any longer of how degrading that sounded from him. It surely makes him a childish sexist.

"Why should she talk to me about this in the first place? When I was in love with Nigel I hadn't talked to her about it either! Well, not in the beginning, later on I did, but that doesn't matter," I mutter the last part more to myself, but I see him make a face at me, to which I roll my eyes annoyed at and continue nonetheless after I heave a long, exasperated sigh. "Sorry for the yelling," I apologize earnest and he nods, genuinely smiling and stroking my arm reassuringly.

"No, you don't have to be sorry. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be _me_," he insists, looking much more like the Peter I know and love. "It's just that—I really need to know where Cornelia stands with our relationship."

Inquisitively, I furrow my brow and ask silently. "Why do you '_need_' to know so desperately in the first place?"

He scrapes his throat. "Because—," then he starts to speak, but stops immediately, twisting his nose in contemplation on whether he should confess it to me or not. I can tell by just taking one glance at his eyes and facial expression, I can read him like an open book from time to time, but sometimes I'm just too confused to see what's troubling him or sometimes he has picked up this new tick that I can't decipher. Right now, I don't know what's haunting his mind, but I do have a suspicion.

"Because… why?" I prod anxiously and curiously, leaning forward to him but he simply turns his head around and looks the other way.

He claps a hand in front of his eyes and slides further down his chair that it looks like he can fall of the wooden furniture anytime now. Slowly, he runs his hand down his face and stops when his hand is gripping his chin and lips. His chocolate brown eyes darts around to meet mine and he lets his hand drop to his knee, right next to his other hand.

"Because I love her."

My mouth drops to the floor and my eyes widen in delightful shock. "Wh—Wh—Wha? What?" I manage to stutter out, blinking rapidly and dizzyingly at my older brother. "What did you say?"

"I love her, Taranee. I never stopped loving her. I was foolish enough to think that our break-up was for the better, but now I realise all too well that it was the biggest mistake in my life. And that day when none of you guys were available to pick her up at the airport and you assigned me to do the task, when I saw her then—I fell in love with her even more than before. I was mesmerized by her beauty and her courage—man, the way she stood up to the fat lady and still be so surprisingly gentle, was so amazing," he takes a moment to pause and he knots his fingers through mine suddenly but I don't seem to notice. The only thing that captivates my attention is the way his eyes are sparkling so brightly and vividly while he talks about Cornelia—I've _never_ seen him act or talk about a girl before like that in my entire life. "I want to get back together with her. It can't be more perfect than this—she's carrying _my_ child, sis."

"Oh no," I mumble, not meaning to mutter it out in the first place. He raises an eyebrow confused at me, but I dodge the glare deliberately. "Peter, I don't wish to hurt you, but—you do realise that there is that chance that you're not the father of her unborn child? Don't you?"

He clenches his jaw, clearly showing that I roughly pulled him away from his beautiful, colourful and sweet fantasy, and pushed him in the filthy, dirty and slimy mud pool that goes also by the name 'reality'. He balls up his fists, digging his nails into his mocha-tanned skin, leaving red stripes. I can see him swallow down the lump of nervousness and anger away from his throat that grew there, and his eyes are flashing furiously.

"Yeah, I do realise that," he snarls, his voice oozing with rage.

"I'm sorry, Peter. But to be perfectly blunt—I am rooting for you," I say honestly, to give him some encouragement and keep his hopes up. If it's anything I hate most, is seeing the people I love down from sadness. Especially Peter, who's such a person with an admirable spirit.

"Thanks."

I smirk coyly at him. "Besides, if the baby is yours then it's my niece or nephew."

At my comment, he begins to laugh while I smile to myself for making him laugh in the first place. It's good to hear his laughter after such a serious conversation—Peter is always the one to make me feel like a schoolgirl again without any concern nor complication in my life, the one to protect me from the evil clutches of being a grown-up, and always the one to make me laugh with him too. It's like he's my one and only unmovable rock in the middle of a rough sea storm, always there to give me advice and to give me hope and to give me support and most of all to give me happiness. It's good to have such a person there for you in your life and I dearly hope I'm the same person like that for him.

"Always thinking about yourself first, huh?" Peter teases on a playful tone, poking my arm with his finger a couple of times and chuckling amused.

A cat-line grin spreads on my lips as I begin to poke him back. "Yes, the world only evolves around Taranee Cook, the most brilliant, the most significant, the most astounding, and not to forget, the most beautiful person on the planet Earth," I kid around with him, beaming with joy.

It's rather funny though, how I can forget the cruel world around me when I'm hanging out with my brother. I remember this one time that we were younger, I was just five years old and he was eight, we were at the playground in the park of Sesamo—where we lived before we moved to Heatherfield—and it was my very first time that I was allowed to run around in the park. I was so eager to scoot down the chute, but at the time since I was just a little pre-schooler, I didn't mind the fact that I was wearing a jeans-skirt with a big daisy motif on the front. However when I glided down, the soft breeze picked up my skirt quickly and those bigger boys, around the age of seven, those bullies, started to pick on me and make fun of my little salmon-pink underwear in order to make me weepy—which they succeeded at, of course. I was crying my eyes out loudly and wailing after my mom, but they kept on tucking at the hem of my skirt. Peter, seeing all this, came to my rescue and stood up against those two boys, who were at least over twenty centimetres bigger than him. Nonetheless, he stood his ground perfectly well, sucked in his breath to make his chest look bigger, pursed his lips together and he frowned threateningly. Of course, the boys simply shoved him aside and took interest in another geek-y boy who was writing first-grade levelled math exercises in the ground. That day I considered Peter as my hero—and he has been my hero ever since.

Like now, I'm having major… _complications_ going on in my life and being here with him right now, poking each other softly endlessly, is making me forget all about those complications. I'm not even thinking about the fact that perhaps pretty soon I'm becoming an aunt, or the fact that Nigel has not lived up to his promise yet. I have yet seen my romantic date with him, it seems that nowadays he even spends more time in the office than at home. Perhaps he considers the double date we had with Will and Matt, _was_ our perfectly romantic date that he promised me, but if that is what he thinks is the case, then he's sadly mistaken! A romantic date, according to me (and most part of the female population will agree with me when I say), is a date between solely your boyfriend and yourself, not including anyone else, pleasantly having a dinner with candlelight or a pick-nick underneath the bright, sparkling stars in the pitch-black sky or even a mid-night walk at the beach with our bare feet grounding in the white sand, but not at the movies! And certainly not when Will and Matt are as quiet as little mice and if they decide to talk at all that it's just groans or curses under their breaths—that's not romantic even for the slightest. I'm seriously wondering what the hell is going on between those two.

Anyways, I'm even forgetting about Danny too when I'm with Peter. I don't even feel my nasty bruises and wounds all over my body anymore, and I don't picture him beating me up anymore—all because I'm feeling happy right now.

Suddenly, Peters stops with our little poke game and he rises up to his feet rapidly, startling me in the process. He ambles towards the counter and circles his long fingers around the glass of water to pick it up. I look up at him confused, with a curious eyebrow arched and my mouth parted slightly. Just when I'm about to ask him what's coming over him, he interrupts me, seemingly already knowing what I'm about to ask.

"I think Cornelia is probably wondering what is taking us so long to just fetch a glass of water for her," he says, shaking his head incredulously and smiling half-way. "What kind of father will I be when I can't even take care of a small task for my wife like this?"

My eyes widen at his words and I exclaim, jumping up immediately from shock. "_Your wife_?!"

He clamps his free hand over his mouth abruptly, attempting to prevent those words from escaping his mouth, but it was already too late. His eyes double its normal size and his chest heaves up and down with rapid speed as he takes long, short pants and I stand there gaping at him with my arms stretched next to my sides. Not knowing what how to respond or knowing how to act with a revelation like this, he takes careful strides backwards, until he reaches the counter and leans his back against it for some support as I notice how badly his legs are wobbling right now. Not knowing what to do either, my hand searches for the chair I was previously sitting on quietly and grips the back franticly as I need support like him too—although not as desperately, I'm just a _bit_ excited, I guess.

I blink a couple of times, coming out of my sudden daze. "Wait—You just called Cornelia your wife. Does—Does that mean you want to marry her?"

He's still staring at nothing in particular, panting heavily and promptly realises he's holding onto a glass of fresh water and downs it immediately with one gulp. "I—I—," he stutters, trying to form a decent sentence, but nothing properly comes out. His breathing becomes steady again and he rests his eyes on me, and I give him a hopeful and reassuring smile, which he returns on the spot. "I have always wanted to marry her, Taranee. I have always loved her and I have always dreamt about starting a family with her."

A pleasant, welcoming shiver runs down my spine with immense joy when he confesses that and I unconsciously run up to him and throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him in a big embrace. "I can't believe this! My brother is going to get married!" I enthuse, jumping up and down very excited about all this.

Then he snakes his hands around my arms and pushes me off him gently, frowning pensively. "Don't get too excited so fast there. Like you mentioned before, perhaps her child isn't mine. What if that Caleb guy or that actor Rick is? What if she's in love with one of them?"

I snort. "Yeah right, I sincerely doubt that Rick has more chances with her than you. I mean—Come one, Rick?! No way that she wants too marry him. Sure he's good-looking and—," I begin to rant, but he interrupts me promptly by asking silently and resentfully.

"And what about Caleb?"

That particular question makes me shut my yapping tramp in an instant. I forgot all about Caleb, he was Corny's great true love and vice versa, and no offence to my brother, but if he has to fight against Caleb to conquer Cornelia's heart then it is bound to be an epic battle with massacres—and one heart devastatingly broken in tiny, million pieces. And I have no clue who will win in that death match—I mean they both have high chances with her, unlike Rick. (He was just a fling, of course that fling could have been the cause of her being pregnant, but that doesn't mean she'll end up marrying the guy.) It has been many years since she and Caleb were together, but it is pretty obvious that somewhere deep down she still loves him—same with Peter, but that's a different tale—and that it had broken her heart when she read the letter that he and Elyon were a couple recently. And that happened during her relationship with my brother! Cornelia's and Caleb's love story has always been the most epic out of everyone's (meaning us five girls) romances, the most dramatic and the most breathtakingly sweet. Though she was also a great couple with my brother and she loves him just as much as Caleb… at least, I think so.

Not wanting to crush my brother's hopes, I force a smile on my face and I simply say, one eyebrow raised. "Peter, Caleb got nothing on you."

His eyes shimmer with renewed hope. "You really think so?"

I nod, still trying to convince myself I am telling the truth. "Yeah. I do. And I think if you really love her that much, you should be honest and just tell her," I suggest wisely.

He exhales shortly, pressing his lips together in a thin line and running a hand through his dreadlocks thoughtfully. "I guess you're right. But I don't know when," he says. "Maybe I can do it when we get home or tomorrow when we're planning to head to the movies or maybe I can—," he murmurs awkwardly and tenses up when a soft voice intervenes our conversation brusquely.

"I think you don't have to bother yourself over that one anymore. I already heard everything," Cornelia spats venomously, standing between the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest angrily and her eyes flashing. I don't understand why she's looking so stark raving mad when she heard everything Peter and I talked about—isn't she supposed to be happy instead? Then she continues instantly and she walks further into the kitchen as she decided to not linger at the entrance any longer. "I can't believe you two! How can you discuss _my_ private life without asking me what I want?!" Now I comprehend why she's mad and I believe she has a pretty darn good reason to be angry.

"Cornelia, I—," Peter starts to apologize, but doesn't receive an opportunity to finish what he wanted to say.

"You two are talking about getting married and starting a family. What if I don't want any of that stuff?! Don't I have to make those decisions for myself?" she thunders furiously at us, looking red in the face.

"Cornelia, I—," Peter repeats, desperation dripping in his voice, but again Cornelia interrupts him.

She just scrunches up her nose disdainfully and cocks her head to the side, puzzled. "I can't believe you," she says, glaring at Peter and then turns around on her heal. "I'm out of here." She's already through the door when she yells back at us from over her shoulder. "And don't dare to follow me! Neither one of you!"

When the front door has been slammed shut with a loud thud, Peter slides down on the tiled floor and buries his face in his hand (his other still holding the empty glass), cursing under his breath but being muffled against his flesh. "Shit."

I scoot down next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. I think it was just her hormones taking over her and exaggerating like that. I highly doubt that it was anything personal."

He looks up to me, tears forming in the corner of his eyes and says, voice pained. "I hope so."

"Sure it was. I'm a woman, and my female instincts tell me so," I reassure, a smile crossing on my face. "Now go after her."

Confused, he frowns. "But didn't she just demanded to _not_ follow her?"

"Look," I start, scowling. "you know Cornelia. She has always been a drama-queen, especially in matters like this. If you catch up with her, apologize politely and explain everything to her, she will fall in love with you all over again. I just know it."

He nods, understanding and gets up on his feet in a second to run after her, while I smile confidently at his retrieving for and muttering more to myself. "Go and fight for her."

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**A/N:** I'm terribly sorry that nothing 'special' happened in this chapter—I dearly hope you liked the sister-brother relation between Taranee and Peter—but I needed to write this so that the 'real' drama can begin in the following two chapters. And I must warn you, from now on, you're on a rough ride. ;) 

Another thing, I altered my profile and the most important of it is that on the bottom there is a section with "News" and I always write down important stuff about my stories in that section—for example, which story I'm going to update next or if I have a new project, etc... So I advise you to check that out from time to time.

_1/20/2007_

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